


This One, Book 1 - Harsh Land

by theDah



Series: This One [1]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Bakumatsu, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Friendship, Gen, assorted other characters - Freeform, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDah/pseuds/theDah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an epidemic orphans a young boy, a collaboration of ill luck and a chance meeting with a notorious swordsman pushes him onto a new path – becoming the Meiji Revolution’s most feared killer.  But just like with every legend, there were things we were never told…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Afternoon Discussions

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is a canon compliant character study that retells Kenshin’s childhood and teenage years all the way to the battle of Toba Fushimi in January 1868. I will introduce alternative theories to fill the gaps the canon left us with, but the key events will be as true as they have ever been in manga and OVA “Trust and Betrayal”.
> 
> I am attempting to keep this as historically accurate as I can. However, occasionally the paint of historical facts gets very thin indeed, mainly resulting from my erratic sources.
> 
> Concerning the dates, they all try to follow simple pattern of being western, but looking somewhat like moon calendar markings. So, for example, if the historical event happens on 8th of July, it would appear on the story as ‘the eight day of the seventh month.’ The years will follow Japanese era system, but I will provide alternate means of catching up with them, either in the prose or in author’s notes.
> 
> This story was written during in summer of 2013 and all three books of the saga are complete. Unfortunately, rewriting my clumsy and dyslexic text and beta-reading it has been somewhat slow going. 
> 
> I’d like to give special thanks for my dear friend Chie for her help in editing the first 14 chapters. I would also like to express my endless gratitude to the wonderful and exceedingly kind BelovedStranger for fearlessly taking on this project and wishing to beta-read the whole story. Without you guys, I would never dare to post this story anywhere. 
> 
> Also, thank you for anyone who has taken the time to review. You encouragement means more than words can convey.
> 
> Thank you.

## Prologue.  Afternoon discussions

_Summer 1882, Tokyo._

 

 

”Whoop!” 

An enthusiastic giggle. 

”Weee!” sounded a high voice, proclaiming its simple joy to everyone within the backyard, followed by the sound of stumbling,  the voice changing the pitch lightning fast from joy to distress. “Ohmp –“

Kenshin glanced up from his laundry chores, his experienced eyes immediately zeroing onto the playing three year old toddler. There was no crying, he noted with relief and deliberately relaxed the tense muscles – instinctively ready to spur into action in the briefest glance of true danger. He let the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile; his son was already absorbed in another interest.

It wasn’t always easy for a parent to recognize the tones of their child’s distress. He had been learning to be better at it lately, but in the beginning he had been a bit overprotective, perhaps. At least Kaoru found it to be so.

Speaking of Kaoru, she was finally coming home for the day. The creaking of the gate’s hinge’s, the light footsteps – it could be no one else. The small ache, caused by her absence, left like it had never been there. He pushed his hands back into the water and continued scrubbing the linens in the washtub. _Better get this done, so one can get started on dinner. She is going to be hungry after a trip to the city center._

At times he couldn’t believe he had this happiness. It was all thanks to her, Kaoru - his wife of four years, who had in short order become the cornerstone of his life and the anchor of his sanity. She had given him so much; home, love, _family_ – a life he had always wanted, but hadn’t truly believed he could ever deserve.

He frowned; her footsteps held a tinge of hesitation. That was unusual. She usually wasn’t hesitant about anything…

“Kenshin—”

Her beautiful blue eyes were slightly tinted by worry—surely there couldn’t have been bad news?

“Is something wrong?” he asked, immediately aware of her mood and seeking to abase it.

A loud exhalation, and then she sat down next to him. “No, nothing, actually. I guess I am just making it out to be worse than it is by worrying too much. Doctor Gensai said that it most probably is just normal children’s behavior, even common! Hmmph! You were right not to worry, love.”

“There is nothing wrong with worrying. It just shows you care, that it does,” he tried to console her. Through her speech, both her voice and face had gone through a multitude of expressions. So like her: kind, loving and fierce.  

“Thank you, but I feel foolish. Going out there, all worried mother that I am, and then Doctor Gensai says that it is completely normal! How could I have known? Ayame-chan and Suzume-chan never did anything like that! By my understanding, anyone talking to themselves, seeing things that aren’t there—it just sounds so, so… like they aren’t living in this world.” Her voice faded into an ashamed whisper.

She had been taking this harder than he had realized, and a flash of guilt struck him. “Those things that you speak of…” The word ‘insanity’ went without mentioning, putting it in harsh words wouldn’t help her any. “One has seen such people, that he has. Mostly, it seems that they had seen or experienced something horrible to break them. Kenji has had everything he has wanted, love, family… it would be – unlikely…”

Her brilliant blue eyes sparked with an inner flame and she growled, “I know that! Even Doctor Gensai told me that!” And just like that her annoyance wilted, and she blushed, turning her face away. “Sorry, it’s not your fault. I, I… No – Kenshin… why didn’t you worry? Even for a minute, ever since Kenji introduced his imaginary friend to us, you have been unflappable about this. And I know you are even more protective of Kenji than I am… how could you be so sure?”

Her eyes held no anger, no accusation… just an honest curiosity. The dark cloud above her had lifted, like it had never been there. The wonders of her sparking temperament never ceased to amaze him.

He smiled at her, his heart flooding with tender warmth for her. She truly was his heart and soul. Glancing at the playing child under the maple tree, he considered his answer.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the same horrible options that Kaoru had, but there had been a bone deep certainty – old as he was, or nearly so—that whatever it was that his son was speaking to, it wasn’t causing any harm. Seeing his child’s happy, almost proud face had just cemented that feeling into place.

He took the linen out of the tub, wringing it out of excess water, thinking how to answer.

“I guess I never told you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 27.3.2015 by BelovedStranger


	2. It's not funny anymore

 

## Chapter 1. It’s not funny anymore

_26 years earlier,  the spring of Ansei 3 rd._

 

 

The boy was wandering towards the mountain again.

Mother used to yell at him for doing so.

He hadn’t listened all that much. The mountain was a forbidden place, thus making it an interesting place in his mind. A new place. And like all little boys, he liked new things. Especially forbidden things.

 Things his mother used to yell at him for liking.

Such as frogs.

He kicked the ground idly. He squeezed his fist tight in helpless anger, trying to avoid the memories – but like the inevitable summer rains, they came and swept him over.

His brothers had liked those things, too. The three of them used to play in the mud together and come home filthy. Mother would yell at them for doing so. Father, though, would just shake his head and tell her to let the boys be boys while they were still too little to help out in the field.

Then his eldest brother became old enough to be useful.

And only two boys were left to entertain themselves with the meager things they could forage near the house. Those odd findings were then used to build whatever was needed to make the imaginary games more real.  

After the harshest winter was over, mother got fat again. Father happily told them that soon they would have another sibling to play with.

But at the early spring season… mother got sick and the baby died before being born.

The boy didn’t understand all that much—but he was sad all the same, because mother was sad. And father, too. It was not easy to play when everybody in the house was sad.

But not a moon after the baby had died, mother got sick again. She puked the food up right at the dinner table! His second eldest brother joked that it was because the food was so bad and she, too, had finally realized that. It was a pretty mean thing to say, the boy thought. But all three brothers laughed. It _was_ kinda funny… even though the barfing was disgusting.

However, when mother couldn’t keep any food in her stomach at all... it got scary.

Father told the brothers to go to sleep. But he had a wild look in his eyes, and as mother didn’t get any better, he put on his coat and went to find the doctor. By this time, it was becoming clear to the boys that there was something wrong with mother. Something really, really wrong. The eldest brother went to help her. She needed someone to hold her up while she barfed. Mother said she was thirsty. The second eldest brother went to get some water from the well and the boy followed him. It was kinda exciting to be up so late… the very first time he was allowed to do so! But, but… mother was so sick, she was sweating and pale – it didn’t feel like he should be happy about anything. Guiltily, the boy glanced at the second brother, whose eyes were glazed with barely concealed tears.

Mother was moaning, too tired to speak reassuring and calming words at them and tried to reach for more water. He kept filling her mug, but it seemed useless—she _couldn’t_ keep anything down… The little she could drink, she was puking up right after.

It wasn’t funny. It had ceased to be funny a long time ago. There was something squeezing the boy’s throat and he felt helpless – there was nothing he could do to help.

The night just continued.

Then father came home with old Ine-sama. The old lady took one look at mother and yelled. She said really bad things and something like “cholera”. The boy didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded like something he was not supposed to say. Then old Ine-sama took a good look at the boys and told them to get outside and take a wash at the well. And wash the clothes, too. She was really scary. So they did it, even though the well water was cold and it was the middle of the night, and they had no other clothes to change into.

Father came to tell them that they couldn’t come in. So, he gave the boys blankets and said to find a good dry spot to sleep in. It was near summer so it was not cold, really.  The three of them settled down under a maple tree and made camp.

It was hard to fall asleep. One could hear grasshoppers, birds… the sounds of the wildlife that lived near the mountain. The boy kept staring at the sky and listening to the sleepy snuffling of his brothers. The moon was large and pretty. But he was scared; of the nature’s odd sounds, of the dark and for mother. He knew that it was not nice to be without food in his stomach. They all knew it, they had gone hungry before.

And mother had looked so sick.

It was too much, he had never been so afraid… the tears started falling and he hiccupped. He buried his face in the blanket, desperately trying to stay silent. If his brothers would wake, they would call him a crybaby again and he wasn’t. He really wasn’t.

He was a big boy and big boys didn’t cry.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the brothers woke up far later than usual.

Why hadn’t father come to wake them up early? He always told them not to waste sunlight by sleeping late, and came to wake the three of them every morning at dawn.

The boy rubbed his eyes.

Oh, there was father, but he looked really bad. Dark smudges colored the skin under his eyes, his face was drawn tight with tension and even his fists were clenched shut. There was this odd dropping feeling in the boy’s stomach, and he didn’t need to hear the words to know that mother wasn’t any better. When father told them that they couldn’t come in yet… not a single one of the three protested at it.

They made scarce and tried to set up a game to pass the time at the back of the house. The faint whimpers and moans and labored breathing trickled through the cracks of the wall, and it was impossible to see the cones with sticks as horses and weaved pieces of grass as Samurai, or the mud and stones as castles.

Not long after the midday, there was silence.

They didn’t need to hear father’s loud cry and fists pounding on the floor to know that something was wrong.

That night – they all cried. Even father.

 

* * *

 

They slept outside all week. It was not exciting anymore. It was cold and clammy.

And still scary. 

Then Old Ine-sama said that if they cleaned up the house real good, they could come sleep inside.

It took a lot of work, but they were able to move back into the house the very next day.

However, there were things that the boy didn’t understand. Why was mother not waking up? If he puked enough like mother had done, would he, too, fall asleep forever? The boy was confused, but everyone around him was so sad and angry that it took him a while to dare to ask about it all.

When he finally did, father sighed, rubbed his eyes clear with his palms and then told him about death. How the god gave them the time with the living, but one couldn’t know how long that was, so every day should be spent well… and how after death, they would go to a better place if they had been good enough.

It didn’t make much sense, but the boy decided with fierce pride that mother definitely had been good enough.

No matter how little he understood, the boy didn’t want to bother father any more about it and even his brothers were so distant… So, he stayed silent and thought about it all – just listening and watching his family relentlessly to make sure not a single one of them puked in secret, or did anything else suspicious.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Thus, he became a pest glued to his father’s or either of his brother’s sides.

 

* * *

 

At the evening meal of one early summer night, the second brother puked. For a second, the boy didn’t know if he was awake or asleep, because surely it was just another of the bad dreams he had been having all these weeks…

But the chill fear in his brother’s eyes and the sweat gathering on his brow were so real, so much more real than anything the boy could dream on his own, and reflexively he tried to touch the second brother’s clammy skin. His reaching arm was swept away angrily… but the tiniest of touch had been enough. He started to shake and the tears were swelling in his eyes. He couldn’t hear anything, not even father’s yelling. There was something lodging at the back of his throat that made it impossible to protest when he was pushed aside, and father reached to help his sick son.

Then eldest brother was shaking him and yelling at him, and the only words he could make out of it all were “run” and “doctor” and he understood… and made a mad dash through the darkening summer night to the village, and to the old Ine-sama’s hut. He banged on the door as hard as he could, but the one opening it wasn’t the wrinkly weather parched face of the village doctor, but instead her daughter. She had a huge stomach and she, too, looked tired and busy – and not alone. Faint moaning of sick people in the hut could be heard from the door, and she told the boy that a lot of other people were sick, and the village doctor couldn’t come to help _yet_. So in the meanwhile, he should help the sick to drink as much as they could.

So the boy had to go back alone… without anything to help. Even the advice was useless. What use was it to give water for the sick when they couldn’t keep it down?

At home it was exactly as bad as he had feared, and father yelled at him because he couldn’t bring any help. Eldest brother had fetched the water already. For some reason, the boy felt betrayed. He couldn’t help. He was useless. So he went to sit by the wall, so that he wouldn’t be in father’s way – it was the only thing he could do.

Anxiously, they waited for the doctor.

It was nearing bedtime when the eldest brother got sick, too. And not long after… even father.

And suddenly the boy was the only one capable of fetching the water.

It didn’t make him feel any better. 

That night the boy did everything he could to help his family. They all were thirsty. They all needed to go to the outhouse, but they were too tired to do it on their own, and the boy was too small to help them go there. So he fetched them all buckets. Well, the family only had two buckets, so the eldest brother got the soup kettle.

The smell was really bad.

The boy was really too small to be of much help, but he tried. The constant whimpering, moaning and crying was horrible, and it smelt worse _inside_ their home than the outhouse during last summer’s heat wave. The knowledge that it was his only remaining family making it was the scariest and most upsetting part of it all.

When it was too much, he went to cry outside so that his brothers wouldn’t see.  He really was a big boy already and big boys didn’t cry. It took a while to calm down a bit, and when he did, he could hear a higher voice – screaming. He didn’t need to listen to know what it was about, the meaning was clear from second brother’s creaking voice. “I don’t want to die!” 

At that moment the boy understood what “death” meant and hated it.

Anything he could do was useless, he finally realized. Even with the old Ine-sama’s help not a moon ago – mother had died just like this. But doing nothing would be worse, so he went inside and helped them all to drink. And puke.

It was during the early morning that the noise got quiet and the second brother didn’t cry anymore. The boy didn’t know what to do.

Someone threw the door open.

It was the old Ine-sama.

She said a really bad word. Then she yelled at him to get outside and take a bath and wash his clothes, too. The boy did so even though he knew it wouldn’t help any. Afterwards, he sat down to wait near the door in his wet clothes, curling into a tight ball to keep warm.

Somehow, he fell asleep.

When old Ine-sama shook him awake; he was not surprised to hear that his brothers were dead.

The old doctor let him in the hut so he could talk to his father a bit. Father said that he was dying, too. The boy knew that already, but was too tired to react anymore. For some reason, at that moment, the most memorable thing was the smell. At least the tortured noise was gone. But… somehow the silence was even more horrible.

And looking at his father’s dim eyes and gaunt pale face – it seemed like the life was trickling away from the lively and invincible form of his father, who had been always there. Suddenly, the boy realized that he would be alone. Just like in his nightmares.

Tears started to fall down his cheek but that was impossible, surely there were no tears left… and the large hand of his father swept the trickle from his cheek, and the hoarse voice whispered, “Shinta – don’t cry, big boys don’t cry, eh? And – now… you have to be a big boy no matter what, because you will be alone. And small boys can’t make it.”

And the boy could do nothing but to nod and rub his eyes clean. The snot was oozing from his nose and he tried to inhale all of it back in, but couldn’t real well, so he wiped it with his sleeve.

Then father told him that he could live with old Ine-sama if he was helpful, and that the boy had to listen to the old doctor and do exactly as he was told. The labored words seemed to etch into his mind, and when father asked him to swear to obey the old Ine-sama, he did.

 

* * *

 

Now that he was living with old Ine-sama, life was not exactly bad. In the corner of her hut, he had a place to sleep and he got to eat every day. But the old doctor didn’t look at him or speak to him. Actually, old Ine-sama seemed happier if he was not near her. So he had a lot free time.

And nothing to do.

Perhaps it was inevitable that he took to wandering. First it was at the village, but soon it became the outskirts. He learned to stay away from the villagers, because no one seemed to talk to him. People would stare at him and whisper to each other. The boy would hear words like “demon”, “foreigner” and “bad luck”, and he thought that those words meant him. Before the sickness, people had occasionally said those things, too, but they hadn’t sounded so scary. Or maybe it was because the boy had never been alone before.

It felt bad being in the village. So he wasn’t.

Slowly, the boy gravitated towards the mountain. He had always wanted to go there—still did. “ _It is dangerous, you could get lost or hurt_ ,” mother had said and forbidden all the brothers for going there.

But now, no one yelled at him for going farther, for staying out too long. No one cared where he went. For some reason, that felt worse than anything else. It wasn’t that he had liked when people yelled at him, but now that there was no mother to…

The boy sniffled, and rubbed the wetness from his eyes. He didn’t look around and pointedly tried not to hear the whispers. He didn’t want to be in the village. Or in the old Ine-sama’s house where he was lonely near the people, who would stare but never speak to him _._

Where he was not wanted _._

Perhaps it was curiosity or just the need to escape that only a few weeks later he finally found the courage to wander into the forest covering the mountain slope.

He soon found out that it was easier to be in the forest, alone. The trees and critters, bugs and birds didn’t stare at him. Well, they did but it was of the good sort – not the isolating looks and mutterings. Sometimes he would get lost in the woods, and it took him a long time to find his way back again. But he found really interesting things. Like weird mushrooms. Roots. Cones. Frog spawn. And worms.

Old Ine-sama didn’t care where he had been, as long as he and his clothes were clean when he came back.

So, a routine was born.

 

* * *

 

One day he wandered to the east side of the mountain. The forest was thicker there, so he hadn’t dared to go that way before. After some stumbles, interesting finds and mindless turns and countless steps, he found a big carved stone standing alone in a small clearing.

It was a really ugly stone.

It had carved lines like fangs and claws—and really ugly round eyes. He didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but it was really, really interesting. He had never seen anything like it before. He liked it.

So of course, he touched it.

It felt oddly cold to touch. Little hairs in the back of his neck stood up. It felt funny.

He laughed.

“I really like you!” There was no reason but that it was the first time the boy had laughed since the sickness came.

The stone didn’t answer. The boy wasn’t surprised. He had never heard a stone talk, after all. But the coldness of the carved stone didn’t feel nearly as harsh after that. Maybe it was because the stone had eyes and something like a face that the boy sat down and started to chatter to the stone.

He was late to old Ine-sama’s house that evening. So late, that the old lady remarked on it. It felt really good to be noticed. Usually Old Ine-sama didn’t talk to him.  

Maybe it meant that it was okay to stay away longer?

So he did.

 

* * *

 

After that, it was no wonder that the boy took to wandering to the stone often.

Being near it gave him funny feelings. And even though the stone was ugly, it wasn’t scary anymore. Far from it – actually, it felt like it was something special, like it was _his_. Something that no one could take from him. That no one knew that he even had. Like a special friend.

And like his brothers, who had been his only friends before, the boy talked to the stone.

He told it this and that, idle observations and thoughts, of his dreams and fears, complaints—of everything, really. He told the stone these things that were on his mind, about which he could talk to no one else. And some other things, too. The boy just liked talking to someone thatwould listen to him no matter what.

“No one likes me in the village. They say I am too small to be of use.”

“Sometimes they call me bad luck. I don’t know how I could change luck. But maybe I am bad luck because everyone but me died.”

“We don’t have much to eat. The harvest was good, Old Ine-sama told her daughter and I heard it. But she said that our lord Daimyo needs the rice, too, and we have to give it to him for taxes. I don’t know what those are, but if the lord is hungry, we should share. Mother used to tell me to share food with my brothers when we had little. But does he need all of our rice? Because now we have been eating bark and roots, too. Those taste bad.”

“I miss my brothers and mother. And father, too.”

“Old Ine-sama’s grandson told me today that I am ugly because of my hair. And my eyes. I know that they are different but is different always ugly? I like red.”

So the days went.

“Old Ine-sama told me that traders are coming soon, and when they come, I will be going with them. I don’t know why, but Ine-sama told me it was because the village has no food to spare for me. But traders would and I would live better if I went with them.”

“I am scared of leaving. I don’t want to leave you either.”

“…so don’t.”

At first the boy thought he had only imagined the sound. Stones couldn’t speak. But who else could it have been? Scared, he swiftly looked around but the clearing was empty, and the forest surrounding it didn’t show anyone else. Still wary, he started to yell at the woods, told the voice to show themselves.

No one came.

After some mad scrambling around and causing ruckus, he finally calmed down and sat next to the stone. He felt a little bit silly for his actions, letting out a faint embarrassed giggle. It didn’t lessen the funny feeling that he wasn’t alone. He laid his hand down on the stone to check he that wasn’t dreaming, and suddenly the coldness was back! The boy shivered, and all the little hairs on his skin stood up.

“I could come with you.”

This time it was obvious that it was his stone that was speaking. The voice was quiet, like a whisper but not quite. Maybe it was just the boy, but the voice sounded really hesitant and lonely. And because of that… the boy, instead of getting scared like before, just wasn’t anymore… it was his stone. His friend. So he laughed, delighted that he was being talked to.

Now his stone was almost like a real friend!

“I want to take you with me,” the boy told the stone. But then he frowned… “You are heavy. How could I carry you?”

“I am not the stone. I only live in the stone.”

“…oh.” Of course, that made more sense than speaking stones… but if his friend was living in the ugly stone— “Could you live in something smaller?” the boy asked, his mind whirling. What could he carry, where could his friend live if not in the stone? There were smaller stones but they were not good ones, and his friend’s house should be something different, have a meaning to it.

“Not something smaller. It needs to be something special.”

The boy didn’t answer. Of course his friend’s house would need to be something special. A wave of terror rode over him; he couldn’t think of anything suitable. What if he had to leave his only friend behind? He wasn’t strong enough to carry the stone! And nothing around seemed right—it needed to be special, but maybe he could find something good that could walk on its own…

“Could you live inside a living thing?” the boy asked, half afraid of what it would mean, but the idea was already taking hold.

“…yes.”

The boy swallowed. He wouldn’t leave his friend, no matter what, but the only special thing he could carry that was large enough—

“Come live inside me, then.”

“Yes.”

The coldness rose from the stone, flowed where his hand still touched it… and started to flood inside him. It didn’t feel funny anymore. It didn’t feel good at all. His hand was freezing. But he couldn’t let go, couldn’t leave his friend behind. The coldness continued to spread inside him, and it hurt. It was worse than being pushed into snow and getting stuck under his brother’s snow castle when it had collapsed last winter—and it didn’t stop, it didn’t stop –

Then he didn’t feel anything at all.

 

* * *

 

When the boy woke up, it was dark. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision… and yawned. It didn’t help much. The forest around him was scarily silent... He couldn’t hear a thing over his loudly thundering heart. The shivers started to dance on his skin when he realized that it was night and he was alone at the mountain. No one knew where he was…

He had never been so far from the village at night.

Could he find his way back?

And what would Ine-sama say of him for being so late? Maybe she would yell at him… Yes, she would definitely notice him then. Cheered, he started to calm down and finally managed to hear the sounds of the forest; leaves rustled in the faint wind, there was hooting of the owls, the critters’ scrabbling and the bugs were buzzing and whirring. 

He wasn’t too scared of the sounds anymore, even though he was alone on the mountain and far away from the village. After all, no animal had ever tried to hurt him. If he made enough noise, the wildlife steered well away, in his experience. Dark forest wasn’t so bad.He had been coming here for weeks, and he knew his way back. Kinda. He was pretty sure he knew it. But the forest looked different in the dark. Had that tree been there before?

The path among the bamboo trees was slippery. The boy fell down time and time again, and soon his knees and hands were full of scratches and bruises. Ow. He didn’t cry, though, because he was a big boy now and big boys didn’t cry. But in the darkness, the doubts kept constantly creeping back into his mind. What if he didn’t find his way home?

He swallowed.

_Don’t think about it._

However slow going it was, the boy started finding his balance and his eyes adjusted to the darkness… and then he didn’t fall so often. The moonlight gave him some direction, too. _Just find a way down the slope._ The village was on the way down, he knew, because coming here he always had to climb up.

Little by little, the forest started to grow more familiar… and then he saw the huts in the distance. It was near morning, and faint light from the rising sun had started to lick the tree tops at the eastern slope of the mountain behind him.

He laughed in sheer relief; he had found his way back!

The rising light made his sorry state clear and he cringed guiltily. Ine-sama would be so mad. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he washed up first? Before, the doctor didn’t care as long as he and his clothes were clean...

“You are late, boy,” called Ine-sama’s croaky voice when he slipped inside in his damp clothes. She did sound angry. He froze like a stunned rabbit, and he coward in preparation of a tongue lashing, but a part of him was eagerly waiting for it. Someone would notice him. A person would see him and talk to him. He wouldn’t be a lonely ghost in her house, just for tiny moment. Because being yelled at meant that someone cared.

But when the ruckus didn’t start, he hesitantly opened his eyes.

Old Ine-sama wasn’t alone.

There was a man in the hut, too, one that he didn’t know. The stranger was tall and hairy in the face. It reminded the boy a little bit of father in the mornings when he had came home late smelling funny. But this man’s facial hair was dark and long; it made him look scary.

“This is the boy?”

“Yes. An orphan. Will he do?”

The man nodded faintly, frowned… “Survivor of the epidemic?”

“Aa.”

“Looks somewhat sorry. I don’t take sickly ones,” the stranger said and made a motion in his direction.

Old Ine-sama nodded at the scary man, and told the boy to stand up straight.

Then the stranger came to look at him. After an unnerving long look, the man commanded gruffly, “Turn around, kid.”

It made shivers run through the boy’s back and all the hairs on his skin to stand up. He was about to protest, but Ine-sama looked at him nastily, and the boy couldn’t help but to swallow the words and do as he was told. He didn’t like it, but the village doctor was scary and father had told him to obey the old Ine-sama.

So he did.

Even when she told him to twirl around for the man, even when he was touched all over. The man tested his thin arms and legs, told him to open his mouth, and it felt like he was being checked for something. Not unheard of; didn’t doctors do things like this? But neither of them spoke to him, and it all made it feel distant.

“How old is the boy?”

“Seven summers.”

Then it was over, and the boy took a few steps backwards – trying to put some distance between him and the scary man. He didn’t make it far before the man nodded and grumbled an agreement, seemingly coming to a decision. It was a deep sound, something alike a bear’s, the boy thought.

“How much you want for him?”

“How much are you willing to pay?” Old Ine-sama countered with the same voice she used when haggling for the best price from a vegetable seller.

The boy didn’t understand much of their following haggling, but words like “foreign”, “young”, “training”, “Kyoto”, “teahouse” and “servitude” were said. He was still wondering over what they were haggling about, because it sounded like they were talking about him… but how could that be? One couldn’t sell people, not that the boy knew about.

However, before he could really think it through, the haggling was over, and the man was giving old Ine-sama money. Then the doctor walked to him, took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes for the first time since his father’s death. Her eyes were dark and her gaze was hard. “Boy. Go with Hideo-san. He will look after you. Do as you are told and you will live an easier life.”

With those words, she rose and turned her back on him.

The boy couldn’t move. His eyes were wide open, and he was shaking… and couldn’t stop it or the following shivers. The realization hit hard. Never before had he felt as lonely as at that moment in the hut with three people in it. Or two, for there were only two adults and apparently only adults were people.

“Come, boy.” The scary man Hideo-san called at him with his bear voice.

The boy didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know the scary man and didn’t like him, but father had made him swear to do as old Ine-sama told him.

But she had turned her back on him, denying him her home and protection.

He swallowed.

Then after a brief pause, he followed the man.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 27.3.2015 by BelovedStranger


	3. The roles we play

##  Chapter 2. The roles we play

The scary man, Hideo, bought people. He had a few other men that worked for him, but mostly, the boy’s travelling companions were girls. All the girls were older than him, but they were really pretty. For some reason, maybe it was because he reminded them of their little brothers, the girls liked him. They would talk to him and look after him. It was like travelling with a lot of older sisters. He had never had any, so it felt quite nice.

With many people looking after him, the boy wasn’t quite as lonely and maybe that was the reason why he didn’t want to think about the night in the forest when the stone had spoken to him. To be truthful, the boy was becoming quite sure he had dreamed the whole thing. He knew that stones didn’t speak and no one lived inside a stone, even a special carved stone.

But if his friend had been real… had it successfully moved into its new home or not? The boy was unsure which option he feared more.

_No, don’t think about it._

If his friend was real and with him, it would speak to him when it could. After all, moving to a new home could take time, right?

And the boy was tired. Travelling all day long was a new thing. Travelling with a caravan was full of new things. But, oddly, the boy couldn’t find a reason to care or to explore like normal. He was just too tired to think. All he could do was to walk and eat and sleep.

He was just too tired worry.

And the boy had quite a lot of worries. Like being owned. Like a kettle. Or a bucket. Actually, though he was scared at first… it wasn’t all that bad. It was, on some level, better than living with the old Ine-sama. At least he was being noticed in a good way, mostly. He just needed to do as he was told, which was, “walk there”, “follow that girl” or “eat that.” Easy things. So the boy learned not to be so afraid.

Maybe everything would turn out well.

The passing days were filled with endless roads, hills, forest and mountains in the horizon, putting one foot in front of another, staring at the dusty or muddy ground. Being alone with his thoughts. He had found out that he really didn’t want to talk to the other bought people, because talking led to knowing people, and that led to caring about them.

The boy really didn’t want to care for someone he would soon lose.

Even if he was young and didn’t understand everything, he did understand that the scary man Hideo didn’t buy people for himself. He bought them so that he could sell them again – like the travelling merchant that had come to the village every summer.

The caravan travelled from village to village, all along the autumn season. It was hard work, as they walked from dust to dawn every day, and didn’t stop to rest too often. Even in the villages, they didn’t linger. The boy’s feet grew used to walking and the skin of his soles grew harder. He was not so tired anymore. Sometimes he wondered why there were no other boys among the bought. Or for what purpose they all were bought for. Maybe he should call them slaves, which was the correct word for them, as he had learned from listening into the conversations.

The girls noticed that he didn’t speak and didn’t think much of it. They still looked after him, always saved him something to eat, saw that he had a dry place to sleep. Sometimes they would brush his hair and wonder why he didn’t want to speak. They thought that perhaps he didn’t speak the same way as they, because he looked different. The boy let them wonder. He didn’t want to care, caring hurt too much.

His friend didn’t talk to him either. Maybe his friend didn’t like its new home and had left him. Or maybe the boy had imagined the whole thing. After all, no one lived in rocks.

But then the scary man Hideo bought sisters Akane and Sakura… and their friend Kasumi, who was a little bit older.

Kasumi reminded the boy of mother.

It had been months since mother had died. A whole season. But seeing the older girl, Kasumi, who smiled like mother… it made him feel like they all had died just yesterday. And Kasumi saw the boy fighting the tears that were forming in his eyes and she knew. Without a question or explanation, she then took him into her arms, and for the first time since the sickness, the boy cried.

 

* * *

 

The bond between the three girls was apparent and because Kasumi took the boy in…

Well.

They became sort of like a family.

Kasumi was the mother. Akane and Sakura were the older sisters. The boy was the baby. He didn’t have to be a big boy with them. It felt good not having to be the tough one. Kasumi looked after them all, and she was the one they all looked up to.

The boy told them about his family and the sickness and how the old Ine-sama had sold him. It felt good to tell someone how alone and afraid he had been. Kasumi told him that he was a brave boy and that even the big and brave boys were allowed to cry when they were sad. So he did and then he didn’t feel quite as bad. As his tears fell, it was as though he was letting the sadness out, too. He told this to the girls, and Kasumi hugged him and told him that he was a wise boy.

With his new-found almost-a-family, living with the slave caravan became easier.

It felt good to talk. It felt good having someone _listen_ to what he said and to _answer_. Even though the girls didn’t always agree with what he said, it was okay. They were older and wiser than him, so of course they knew better.

So when he felt brave enough, he asked them about the things that he didn’t understand. How could people be owned? Kasumi answered that only people who worked in red light districts could be owned. The work there was something not many wanted to do, but it paid really well, and therefore, it was agreed that girls could be sold to work for contracts.

It didn’t make any sense! Why should only girls be sold? But more importantly, what sort of work was it that only girls were good for it? He didn’t know many jobs but the farming, selling, and of course there were Samurai and the doctors…

Kasumi frowned at him, pursed her lips and told him that it was work where one worked to make other people happy. Well, that didn’t sound so bad. He liked to make other people happy. It felt really good when people smiled at him, and he knew that it was because he had done well. He told this to the girls. Kasumi just smiled at him and told him what a good boy he was.

But something in that explanation still didn’t feel right… If only girls could be sold to that work, why was he there? He was not a girl. Kasumi fell silent at this and it was Akane who answered. “It’s because you are pretty like a girl.” The boy didn’t think so, and told them that. He could never be as pretty as Akane, Sakura and Kasumi.

The girls smiled at him for this. Then Sakura said, “You will be, when you grow older.” Before the boy could yell about this latest horror, Kasumi interrupted them. “Girls are worth less than boys to the villages. They are easier to sell.”

That couldn’t be true. But Kasumi sounded so sure… but it was just _wrong_.

So, the boy told them about all the people that he knew and respected that were girls. And how, in his experience, all the really scary people were always girls. Like mother, who used to yell a lot at the brothers, making them scared like rabbits. Even father had feared mother when she yelled. Like old Ine-sama, who was so scary that the boy didn’t want to spend any time with her. And there was even old Ine-sama’s daughter, who was fat and very scary whenever he had seen her.

Akane and Sakura giggled at him for saying this. But Kasumi just looked at him, took him in her arms and told him to never change. 

So…

The boy didn’t always agree or understand the things his new almost-a-family told him, but it was okay. It was enough that they listened and answered the questions.

One day he dared to ask about carved stones and beings that lived in them. The girls laughed at him and told him that it must have been a spirit. Everything had a spirit in them, and people would honor the spirits and pray to them. Then the boy asked about being friends with spirits, and Kasumi told him that the spirits just listened, they didn’t answer. But one could always, always talk to them.

He thought about this the whole evening, and it was when he was trying to fall asleep when he realized that he, too, had just believed and talked to his stone. So, most likely, it was a spirit that lived in the stone.

But could the spirit move to a new house?

This roused an argument between the older sisters the very next day. Akane thought that the spirits could change homes when they needed, whereas Sakura was of the opinion that spirits only lived in their homes and could never leave them. Kasumi didn’t offer any opinion at all, just kept silent and stared at the roadside while they walked.

If the spirit had been able to move easily, it should be okay. But, what if the spirit hadn’t been able to leave its home? It had hurt the boy when the spirit had switched. Maybe it had hurt the spirit, too?

If so, maybe it just needed time to recover.

The boy bit his lip in worry. Neither of the options reassured him. He kicked the ground glumly. _But, what if… it just couldn’t answer because I don’t talk to it anymore?_

It was a moment of realization, and the boy stopped right there on the side of the road. Eyes wide, mouth wide open and his breath hitching as the crumbs of knowledge aligned and started finally to make sense.

Spirits lived in things and people talked to them. Maybe they, too, would feel better when they were noticed? He had hated to be ignored. _What if the spirits get better when people believe in them? What if I hurt it by leaving it alone?!_

So, that night, as they stopped to rest, the boy went to sit alone for a bit. He told his new almost-a-family that he wanted to be alone for a moment because he felt sad and wanted to remember his real family. The girls looked hurt, but left him alone. He felt bad for lying, but this was important, and the girls wouldn’t have left him alone if he had told them the truth.

And he really needed to try to talk with his spirit-friend. 

At first the boy tried it like he had always done, just talking aloud. But for some reason, he felt really silly talking like that. It was different before, he reasoned in a fit of nerves, because back then he had talked to the stone. Now there was nothing to talk to. He was there, sitting alone.

But how could he speak to his friend now that it lived inside him? If he talked out loud, outside… could his friend inside hear him?

Maybe he needed to speak to his friend inside himself?

How could one speak inside himself so that someone living inside would also hear him? The boy felt confused. But Sakura’s and Akane’s opinions had given him hope that his friend was real and just needed some help. The boy felt really bad for just leaving it up to his friend to contact him. If he could help than he should do so. No matter how stupid it felt.

The boy tried a lot of ways of talking to himself, like talking to his hands, because the spirit had moved through his hands. Then he tried talking to his feet. Because, didn’t everything drop to the ground eventually? Even the really small things? He didn’t know how big his friend was, but he didn’t think the spirit would be large. So it could totally live inside his feet. Then he tried whispering. He imagined himself talking inside himself.

It grew sillier from that.

And soon really, really complicated.

It was stupid he decided after the latest attempt. He didn’t want to think about what the girls thought he was doing. Maybe he should give it up for the night. Why was it so hard? Before, when it had been just him and the ugly stone, it had been so easy. He couldn’t understand why it felt so impossible now when they were even closer with no stone between them.

The boy buried his face in the junction of his crossed arms. It was making his head hurt, all this thinking. It shouldn’t be hard.

It really shouldn’t!

Suddenly, another thought struck him and he narrowed his eyes. _Maybe it wasn’t_?

 _Maybe I am just making it too complicated?_ He had asked his spirit-friend to come live inside him, yes… but no one said that the spirit had a body in the world. No, the spirit had, at most, felt like a wave of coldness. So, if the spirit was just a feeling, it could be as large as needed – so living inside him, it would be just the same size as him. Maybe he just needed to feel the spirit inside and think on that?

So the boy concentrated. The coldness. His bum felt cold. No. That was not it. He tried to remember the feeling. It was the weird coldness. That had felt funny. That made the little hairs in the back of his neck stand. Did he feel anything like that?

And suddenly, now that he knew what he was looking for, he found it.

A sense of a presence that felt just like the funny kind of cold that he remembered his friend feeling like. It was faint, but there.

So he sent a thought towards that feeling.

‘Hello.’

Just a simple word. But just that one word made the presence shiver.

So, the boy tried again.

‘I missed you. Are you hurt?’

The presence didn’t answer, but it felt like it had. It grew slightly warmer and then it showed something to the boy.

It was images of people the boy didn’t know. Sometimes there were feelings attached. The feelings weren’t nice at all. The spirit really didn’t like the people it was showing to the boy. Pain. Anger. Hate. Disappointment. Jealousy. Then it showed a man dressed in a weird dress, singing something in words the boy didn’t understand.

There was a carved stone. It was the stone! Their stone!

_An overwhelming feeling of entrapment._

‘That man trapped you in the stone?’ the boy wondered.

The presence gave a warmer feeling, one that felt like mother patting him on the head when he was a good boy and gave a right answer to the question.

Then it sent more images.

Slowly, the boy tried to make sense of it all, tried to understand his friend who now shared his body.

‘You were trapped because you didn’t like people? And you were there a really long time? But you still felt bad? So you tried to give out that bad feeling to others, too?

The spirit gave the correct answer feeling again.

He could almost understand the spirit. Last winter, when the boy had hurt his arm, he, too, had tried to give out the hurt to his brothers by yelling, saying nasty things and trying to hit them. The boy had hoped that it would make his pain less. It didn’t. Mother had scolded him for his bad behavior and told him that making others feel bad wouldn’t help him any; it just made everybody feel bad. Only bad boys would try to make others feel bad. The boy wasn’t a bad boy, was he? So he shouldn’t behave so. The boy sent this memory to the spirit.

The spirit sent back a feeling of confusion.

The boy was just starting to try to explain the memory and his mother’s wisdom to the spirit, because clearly the spirit hadn’t had a good mother to tell it these things—

He felt someone shaking his shoulder.

It was Kasumi. She looked really worried.

“Shinta-chan, are you alright?”

And the boy smiled, nodded and said that he was better than he had been in a long time.

After all, he had an almost-a-family. Living with the caravan was not so bad. And most importantly, he had his friend back.

 

* * *

 

Thus, a new routine was born.

During the day the boy walked, and when Kasumi, Akane or Sakura wanted to talk, he would ask about things, listen and walk some more. But when they stopped to rest and no one needed him, the boy would sit alone to talk to his friend who shared his body.

They didn’t talk with words. No. For some reason, the spirit wouldn’t use words now. But it was okay. After all, how could one use words without a mouth? Even the weird carved stone had had a face. But they showed pictures – memories—with each other and commented on them with feelings.

The boy found that he didn’t have much in common with his spirit-friend.

Actually, even the often giggling Sakura seemed to agree with the boy more than the spirit.

The spirit was angry. It didn’t like people.

That was okay, because the boy didn’t like people much either. But unlike the spirit, the boy knew that being sad and angry all the time was bad for you. The boy’s mother had told him that.

So, he decided to share memories of his mother with the spirit. It clearly didn’t know the difference between being a bad boy and a good boy. And that one should always try to be a good boy. Now that the boy was a big boy, he could teach the spirit – just like his brothers had taught him, be an older brother.

It felt good not being the youngest anymore.

One time, Kasumi asked him why he was now always sitting by himself while they rested.

The boy smiled and told her that he was thinking and remembering.

It was the truth - just not all of it.

The boy had tried to tell his almost-a-family about his friend. But while they had listened, they hadn’t really believed him. Instead, Sakura had smiled at him and said it was nice that the boy had an imaginary friend.

The boy had asked what imaginary meant.

Akane said that it meant something that was not real.

The boy had almost grown angry and yelled in defense of his friend. His friend was real, the boy knew it! But he had tried to teach his new friend that it was not okay to be angry. Not all the time. And especially not over small reasons, like disagreeing over something. And the boy didn’t want to be a bad example.

The spirit had no one to look after it. Only the boy.

Even the boy had had two brothers. And mother and father. So he could compare. But the spirit had just him.

So he just had to be a really good example.

Some days later, when the boy was going to sit again on the side alone, Kasumi asked if she could perhaps join him. He didn’t know how to say no to Kasumi, so he just nodded and smiled.

They found a good spot on the side of the road. There was a small lake there.

Fireflies were flying over the water.

The sun was setting.

It was pretty.

The boy told Kasumi so. She smiled at him and petted his hair.

They sat in silence for a while, but the boy had a reason to sit alone, so he was impatient to get to it.

Perhaps he should ask why Kasumi wanted to sit with him.

But how could he tell Kasumi that he really wanted to be alone for a while? It would need to be done in a way that wouldn’t hurt Kasumi’s feelings. He didn’t want to hurt Kasumi. In these few days he had known her, he had learned to care for the older woman. If the boy was truthful, Kasumi was becoming like a real mother to him.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

He didn’t want to replace his true mother with Kasumi, even though he cared about Kasumi, too. And somehow, if he admitted it, even to himself, it would feel more real. And the boy didn’t want that. So he didn’t.

But how could he tell these things to her? And get some time alone? He really wanted to talk more to his spirit-friend. He just didn’t know how, so he thought and squirmed. It was hard to sit calmly when he wanted to do something but couldn’t.

Kasumi just sat there next to him. Calmly. She stared at the water and fireflies.

Then she said, softly, “I lost my boy this summer to the cholera.”

And the boy didn’t want to get away anymore. He remembered cholera. It was the sickness. Kasumi’s soft voice sounded like she was in pain. Back then… it had felt so bad. The boy didn’t want Kasumi to feel hurt.

He wanted to help her like she had helped him earlier.

What could he do? When his mother had sounded like that, she had just lost the baby. And then the three brothers had stayed close to her and the boy had hugged her. To remind her that she hadn’t lost everything. That she still had them.

But Kasumi was not Mother.

“He was just four summers old. A small child. A bit smaller than you. Seeing you… reminds me of him.” Her voice broke a bit. There was wetness in her eyes.

He didn’t have any choice anymore. He hugged her, just like he had hugged Mother.

And Kasumi pulled him tight against her chest and petted his hair.

If felt good.

Almost like he had a mother again.

They stayed like that for a long time.

“You remind me of mother,” the boy finally managed to tell her. “I didn’t want to think about it. I don’t want to replace Mother with you.”

Kasumi petted his hair and told him with her mother voice that chased away all fears and doubts, “Your mother is your mother. And my boy is my boy. But we can pretend together.”

“What does pretending mean?”

Kasumi didn’t answer very fast. Like she had to think about it for a moment. But it was okay. “It’s playing that a lie is a truth. Like we both know that you are not my boy and I am not your mother. But if we both agree to play that it is so, that’s pretending.”

“Mother said that lying is what bad boys do. And I shouldn’t do so.”

“Lying is not a good thing. No,” Kasumi admitted.

They sat together in silence. The last rays of the sunset were peeking from the treetops and giving a pretty shine to the water. The boy thought about families and sons and mothers. Mother was a mother and son was a son. But who said you could only have one? His mother had had three sons. It was wrong to insist that Kasumi should have only one. And if Mother could have many boys, then maybe a boy could have two mothers?

The boy told Kasumi this.

And Kasumi agreed.

Thus, they became a second son to a mother and a second mother to a son. And it was okay.

Then there were no fireflies over the water. The sun had set, too. The only light was coming from the campfire. And it was getting cold. So Kasumi nudged the boy and they rose to stand together.

That night before they went to sleep, Kasumi went to her bedroll and came back. She was carrying something small. She gave it to him. A colored piece of wood.

The boy asked what it was for.

Kasumi told him that it was a top. A toy for children.

And now it was his.

 

* * *

 

The following evening, they had walked even longer than usual. It was almost night already and the boy was becoming hungry. His stomach was quite vocal about it. Akane laughed at him and told him to teach his stomach not to yell.

_Is that even possible? What else can I teach my stomach? To speak? Maybe the spirit—_

Then Kasumi smiled at him, and told Akane not to jest him. This prompted the boy to ask what ‘jesting’ meant. Sakura said that it meant joking.

…O _h, but why didn’t Kasumi say so in the first place? Why did they have to use difficult words when easy ones work just as well?_ But seeing their smiles, the faint irritation just faded away, and he told them that it was okay.

The sky was really pretty. All red and yellow, really bright colors. The boy liked bright colors. Like the ones his new top had. The sky was not that bright very often. On their right side, there was a clearing. On the left was the forest, which was really thick. One couldn’t see far in.

“Ugh,” he puffed out, shaken abruptly back into reality. He had almost walked into Kasumi, who was in front of him.

_Why did they stop?_

_Oh…_ There was a man standing in the middle of the road. He had a sword – and he looked really scary.

Scarier than the scary man Hideo.

“We have you surrounded,” the scary man with a sword yelled. “Surrender your monies and women and you may live.” Before scary man Hideo could answer or the swordsman yell more, one of the girls ahead of them screamed and started to run towards the field.

It was like something broke at that moment. And suddenly, all the girls tried to follow the first one.

“Don’t let them escape! They will reveal that we are here!” a man’s voice called out and more scary men came out of the woods with their swords.

Kasumi dragged the boy with her and followed the older sisters Akane and Sakura as they dashed across the field to the forest.

Shouts, screams… behind them.

They didn’t dare look back.

And after every scream there were fewer voices left.

Kasumi’s grip was so tight on his wrist that it hurt, and he really couldn’t see anything but her black hair and kimono-clad back. Then Akane fell down, and they, too, stopped for a brief moment. “Hurry, hurry up—” Kasumi started to yell, before hiccupping and coming to stop.

Akane’s leg had twisted.

She cried as she tried to rise and stand but fell down, and tried again… and then Sakura came back to them and tried to help her up.

Kasumi let go of his wrist and went to help them, too.

The boy turned to look back and saw—

A scary man with a sword was running towards them, and seeing the girls’ distress, slowed down to a prowling walk. Mouth widening to a grin.

What could he do; what could he do?! He didn’t have anything to throw at the scary man… nothing to slow him down, nothing to stop him.

There was more shouting around them, but now there were more deep men’s voices screaming than girl’s high voices.

The man turned to look behind him.

For some reason, the grin slipped from the man’s face like it had never been there, and he dropped the sword from his hands. He took a backwards step, another—and started to run through the forest, too. But why would a scary man run away? It didn’t make any sense! The scary man ran like he, too, was afraid. Was there something even more frightening than the scary men with swords behind them?

He didn’t see anything… but it didn’t feel like a good idea to stay here.

The scary man had dropped his sword.

It lay there on the ground.

Maybe… if the boy took it, he could defend second mother Kasumi and the almost-older-sisters Akane and Sakura. Just like he had defended the mud castles in games with his cone horses and stick Samurai against his second eldest brother’s…

He didn’t want to lose his family again. Kasumi, Akane and Sakura were girls. He would defend them. He was a big boy. Almost a man.

A man like the scary men.

If they could use the sword, so could he.

So…

The boy crouched down and picked the sword up with both hands.

 _How can the scary man do anything with it?_ It was so heavy, like an overlong knife! He tried to lift it straight like he had seen the scary men hold it.

The sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing were growing nearer.

The boy didn’t want to look up, because he knew what he would see. His arms shook against the weight of the sword. It didn’t matter if he had a sword if he couldn’t use it, and he really couldn’t. It was too heavy and long. A wave of terror rose; he wouldn’t be able to protect—   

Warm hands surrounded him. Pulled him back. He fell into the soft embrace and let the useless sword fall from his hands. It was Kasumi who held him. She felt like mother.

The boy felt loved.

The man in front of them was ugly. And tall. And hairy. And sweaty. And he had a sword that he could lift with one hand.

With a scream Sakura ran towards the ugly man.

The sword slashed.

Sakura fell down and didn’t rise.

Akane, with her twisted leg, tried to rise to stop the man. She couldn’t, so she begged him, “Spare the child!”

“Shinta! Don’t look!” Kasumi whispered in his ear, but he couldn’t close his eyes.

The man answered with his sword.

The boy shook, more afraid than he had ever been. Footsteps were getting closer and the man’s white teeth flashed. _Akane and Sakura… dead. Dead. Kasumi, too, was going to die._ _Die. Die. The sword, the teeth, the blood…_ Kasumi pushed him to the ground and fell on top of him, covering him with her body. The boy looked up at Kasumi’s face.

Her lips were almost bloodless. But her voice was low. Like mother’s.

“Shinta. Shinta. You are just a child. You have not chosen your life like we have been able to. You cannot die now. You must live. Live a full life for the sake of those that died here tonight.”

The scary man lifted Kasumi by her hair. Her eyes were dark and wide and scared. Tears fell across her cheeks.

“Shinta! Please live!”

And then the sword pierced through her throat. Kasumi’s hands rose to the blade, grasping it – then the scary man dropped Kasumi to the ground. Like one would drop a kettle. Or a bucket. Or a slave.

Kasumi’s throat bled still. She looked at the boy. Her lips were still moving but no sound came out. Like she didn’t know she was dead already.

Then the boy heard her small broken whisper.

 “Live Shinta… live for me...”

And the scary man struck the sword in her chest.

Kasumi’s lips, that had spoken like mother’s, didn’t move anymore.

He froze still in shock, but he didn’t know why. They were all dead, _again_.

The boy was alone.

The scary man walked towards him and raised his sword.

The boy looked up to him and didn’t feel scared anymore.

He didn’t feel anything.

Didn’t want to be alone _again_.

Maybe it would be okay.

The sword didn’t hit him. Instead, the man turned to look behind him. And yelled a really bad word. And asked who it was.

The voice that answered was low. Cold. Calm. Like it didn’t care. Almost like what the boy imagined the spirit sounding like.

The boy looked up.

He didn’t know what he saw. It was large and white. And then the scary man that had killed Sakura, Akane and Kasumi fell to pieces. The white being was a really big man. The biggest man he had ever seen. But he didn’t feel like a man. He felt more like the spirit.

It was comforting.

The man spoke aloud. The boy didn’t understand much. Too many new words to follow, but he thought it was about revenge and survival. It didn’t matter what the man spoke to him, the cold and calm tone of voice felt safe and familiar.

So the boy wasn’t afraid; instead, he just sat there.

Then the man-spirit cleaned its sword, put it back into the scabbard and turned around.

The he—it—started to walk away.

The boy wanted to shout at it, tell it not to leave him.

But his mouth could not bring out the words, so tried to stand up, but his legs didn’t work. Nothing worked. He reached out towards the white being. _I don’t want to be alone. Not alone. Not again. Anything, but alone!_

The man-spirit in white just left.

The boy watched it go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 2.4.2015 by BelovedStranger


	4. Grave Digger and the Wandering Jerk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Dragon, err... Hiten Mitsurugi Master. Ahem.

##  Chapter 3. Grave Digger and the Wandering Jerk.

 

The moon was bright and round.

The boy was alone.

 _Alone_ in a field filled with dead people.

It was quiet.

He wanted Kasumi.

His useless legs didn’t feel steady enough for walking, so he crawled on the ground that had become wet and muddy from all the blood.

He wanted Kasumi, who had lost her little boy. Who didn’t mind he was odd and ugly. Who had just seen a little boy just as alone and adrift as she was. Second mother, who had comforted him when he had been alone in the crowd.

Kasumi, who lay there dead, with a wound in her throat and empty open eyes. Hesitantly, he reached to touch her cool skin. It was clammy. It didn’t feel anything like before. She didn’t even look like Kasumi anymore. _That’s because she is not there anymore, dummy._

She was just a dead body.

His fingers clenched into a fist in her kimono, and the boy buried his face in the dirty, bloody cloth. It wasn’t fair. He had just found her. Just dared to hope for—

A high screeching wail rose from deep in his chest and he tried to stop it. It hurt, it hurt so much... He breathed in the odd musky scent that was lingering on her clothes, trying to find comfort from her empty shell. She, too, had left him alone. _Just like Mother, and brothers, and father, and, and—_

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but after the moment had passed, the coldness was starting to creep on him. The damp cloth didn’t keep warmth at all; his knees hurt and her body couldn’t give him anything anymore.

The boy sniffled, then gave it up and wiped his nose with his sleeve. It wasn’t right, _nothing_ was right in the world anymore.

She had been his mother, a second mother—but a mother still. So he decided to do to her what he had seen father do to mother.

Dig a grave.

Because dead people went into graves. Even the boy knew that.

So…

He cupped his hands and started digging.

It didn’t take but a couple drags of the muddy ground to discover that his hands were not good at digging at all. Under the thin surface of mud, the ground was packed hard. But he gritted his teeth and kept at it with sheer stubborn will.

Sand and sharp pieces of gravel slid under his nails. His fingers kept hitting odd lumps, root and stones. It was tiring work and really, really slow.

When he finally paused a bit to look at what he had managed to get done, he started to realize that it wasn’t that simple. The hole in the ground, that was supposed to be a grave for Kasumi, was really shallow. One couldn’t bury a chicken in it. And his fingertips were bleeding next to his nails, full of scratches from his efforts.

It wouldn’t work like this.

Not well enough.

Idly, he sucked his bleeding fingertips and mulled over his problem. The moonlight covered the clearing, and across it, on the road were the caravan wagons. They had walked next to them all these weeks, stopping every night to eat from supplies the wagons carried…

His eyes widened. That was it! There had to be something he could use for digging in the caravan. So he clambered up and started his way across the massacre site. It was nasty to walk through the field with its high wet grass and dead bodies littered around.

_Don’t look down, don’t think – just walk._

The abandoned caravan was scary. There was no one there, just dead bodies and hastily discarded stuff that some of the girls had been carrying. The boy swallowed, and closed his eyes… The food stuff had been in the middle wagons, other supplies at the tail end of the caravan.

It felt bad to search the wagons. He kept expecting someone to jump out yelling and hit him for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. After all, the slaves hadn’t been allowed near them. He had seen the scary man Hideo hit one of the girls for doing just that.

After quite a lot of searching in the pitch black darkness of a covered wagon, he found a shovel. The boy had seen men use it to dig latrines.

It would do.

 

* * *

 

It was almost morning when Kasumi’s grave was finally ready.

Even with the shovel, the digging hadn’t been easy. The tool had been large and unwieldy, heavy. It had been made for adults and the boy was just a child, a small and scrawny one at that. But it had been easier to use it than dig with bare hands.

The boy set the shovel aside and straightened his aching back, wiped his sweaty hands on his pant legs. _I really did it,_ he thought proudly, while surveying his work. It wasn’t very deep. Just barely past his knees.

But it would do.

Now he just had to get her body into the grave.

Taking hold of her hands, he pulled. The body didn’t move. At that point, the boy realized that it might not be so easy. _Why is she so limp?_ Dismayed, the boy walked around the body. He tried pulling at the feet; it didn’t work either. The body was just too heavy.

And he was tired.

Sitting down between the corpse and the open grave, he didn’t think he had ever felt as bad as that moment. _All that work for her… for nothing_. He wanted to cry. But somehow, there was this certainty that if he did, he would never get anything done and it still wouldn’t help him any.

It was Kasumi who had told him that it was okay to cry. And now Kasumi was dead.

So he didn’t cry.

Instead, he rose and walked around his second mother’s body again and again… thinking. _But what if…_ And he pushed at her near the waist, just like he would roll a heavy log. The body moved.

It was almost easy to roll it into the grave.

Just a thud sounded as the body fell. He was almost satisfied, and glanced at the shovel… but the body had dropped into a really awkward position, face down. He didn’t want her to be like that. It didn’t look comfortable. No, sleeping like that would be impossible.So the boy jumped down there and rolled her to her back. Arranged the kimono straight. Brushed her hair from her face.

It sort of looked like she was just sleeping there he decided after it was all done. Except for the gaping wound in her throat and the open eyes. It was the eyes that nearly broke him, because they made it impossible to even imagine that she was okay, just sleeping, still there for him.

The eyes were empty. She wasn’t in them.

He swallowed, took a deep aching breath… then finally crawled on top of her, and closed her eyes for her. After that, he started shoveling the dirt on top of the body. Like father had buried mother. And Kasumi had been—

 _Don’t think. She isn’t there anymore; it is just a body._ _Just keep working, keep moving. Don’t stop, don’t even think of it because if you do… if you do, whatever can you do then?_

The sun was rising when he was finally done. He was tired, so tired. His stomach growled at him angrily. His hands were covered in blisters. He hurt everywhere.

If he just closed his eyes for a bit, he could almost fall asleep.

The first rays of sunshine covered the field and showed the droplets of water shining in the grass… and Sakura and Akane lying there, a few steps from him and Kasumi. There was no real thought involved; it just didn’t feel right to leave them there.

So he started digging a new grave next to Kasumi’s.

 

* * *

 

Everything hurt; his hands, feet, his stomach felt like an empty sack and his throat was parched. There was a constant ache just behind his eyes. So just for a few moments, he lay there, trying to make sense of it all and work his eyes open. It was just a dream… He could feel like this for other reasons, he really could. _Let it be just a dream. Please._

He only needed to open his eyes to see that it was hopeless. The three new graves were right in front of him, anchoring him back into harsh reality. A glance at the sun told him it was midday. He had never slept so late. Once, that would have been enough to cheer him. Not anymore.

He didn’t feel like moving. What would he do now? He didn’t know. It was too much, too sudden.

But he was thirsty.

And hungry.

That he could do something about.

It took a while to stagger up to stand, but he knew where he could go and that was enough. In the daylight, the walk through the field wasn’t so bad. Well, he could avoid the corpses and bugs crawling on them, but it helped not to look too closely.

Searching through the supply wagon granted him water jugs. And vegetables, dried fish and rice sacks.

There was no one there.

He felt guilty and nervous, but… if no one saw, maybe it was okay? And there really was no one there, just him. So, after a while of trying to decide, he finally settled down at the back of the wagon to eat and drink. He had no idea how to make a fire for cooking rice, so it was better left alone. He didn’t like vegetables much, but after munching on a few bites of dried fish…

When he had eaten all he could, he just sat there and stared.

The field was still covered in dead bodies, in pieces or mostly whole. The blood tainted the grass to an ugly rusty brown. On the side, there was a crow picking at a bandit.

It made him feel ill, or maybe it was the faint tint of the horrible smell blown in his direction by the wind. 

He didn’t know most of the people that had lived in the dead bodies. He hadn’t liked most of those that he had known, like the scary man Hideo. But they were not people anymore; they were just dead. And it was not okay to leave the dead just lying there for the animals to eat.

So he fetched his shovel and started digging again.

 

* * *

 

Hiko Seijuurou was a wandering swordsman. Well, in the sense that he was a Master Swordsman, had no current residence, no affiliation to any faction or any desire to have his loyalties chained down. Instead, he went where he desired and tried to help people with his sword. It wasn’t difficult to find uses for his skills in this way either; lately with the economy in shambles and the heavy taxation on lower classes, the amount of bandits prowling in the woods had risen from the occasional fight to a constant nuisance.

Bandits had no other livelihoods but stealing from others. And peasants and merchants travelling the roads were already suffering enough. So, just as his master had taught him to wield his sword for the betterment of the common people, Hiko did.

Just like the vermin, it didn’t matter how many he killed – more kept coming to infest the roadsides. Just like a never ending cycle. On particularly morose nights, it felt almost senseless, like his only purpose in life was squashing bugs so far beneath him.

But then again, someone had to do it and Hiko had no reason not to.

One night he killed a group of bandits while they were massacring a merchant caravan.

 _That bandit group was at least smart enough not to leave any witnesses_ , Hiko thought dispassionately. Usually the vermin kept the women for themselves as long as they lasted, never thinking rationally what would happen if one would escape or be missed, and in result, the location of the camp and ambush site would be hunted down. For a sorrier bunch of vermin like these were, only possibility of success was to ambush the poorly protected caravans that chose rarely travelled routes out of desperation, hoping to avoid the bigger and more professional bands poaching on the main routes. So, it all made sense - ruthless, but effective.

Not that Hiko cared. He just killed the vermin wherever he went.

This time, though, a brief pang of regret flashed through him when he realized that he was too late. It was blatantly obvious even at the first surveying glance – the caravan was abandoned and most of the merchants and their servant girls had been cut down on the field. There were some screaming and shouting, but it was quieting down. There was a particularly pretty face lying in two pieces at his feet. _Just a few minutes earlier, and I could have saved you…_ Her lush lips were twisted in a terrified grimace; her broken body was clad in a cheap kimono, one that no respectable lady would ever wear, but too fine for a peasant wench. Perfect for a girl sold to red light districts.

Perhaps it was just as well that he was late—life as a whore was not worth much. All need to hurry left Hiko, and he cut the vermin down at his own pace. 

However... near the end of the clearing, there was still a small scuffle left; a bandit cutting down a group of screaming girls begging for their life, too scared to even run. Or… No. The girls were protecting something.

Intrigued, Hiko started to make way towards them.

It was a child, or so it seemed. Hmmph. They probably were a family, sold together after the father had died. With no man bringing food to the family, they were probably left destitute and homeless.

The bandit saw him, blustered and demanded his name. It was proper fighter’s etiquette, one that was common for Samurai. This man though… had no master anymore. A ronin, Hiko pegged him casually, experienced with the blade, but left with no other purpose but committing atrocities for his living.

Giving one’s name to the enemy was a sign of respect.

Hiko didn’t have any, not for this mangy dog—but it was only proper to answer. So he calmly remarked, “You are about to die, so knowing my name is meaningless to you.”

The twisting of lips and narrowing of eyes told Hiko clearly that the cur had understood the mortal insult he had been handed. The ronin bared his teeth and charged.

Three simple strikes handed out in a span of the blink of an eye. The bandit probably hadn’t even seen the first, judging by the fact that he hadn’t even tried to shift his stance to parry, and the cur fell into seven neat pieces. The edges of the cut flesh were even; there was no tearing and he had barely used any of his true strength or speed – it was too easy.

But then again, since his master’s death, all sword fighting was too easy.

_Just like squashing vermin._

The child was still alive. A small thing, clearly a foreigner, Hiko noted with a raised brow. It wasn’t as noticeable in the darkness, but the eyes and hair… they were too light, too pale. He almost wanted to make a sign of warding against evil. No proper Japanese looked like that.

The kid had frozen still, just stared at him blankly. Didn’t react at all – like a broken toy.A disaster waiting to happen. Witnessing things like this and seeing one’s family die in front of their eyes, it did terrible things to the mind. Most adults would turn bitter and hateful. What would it do to a child?

It would almost be better to kill the kid now. Spare them some pain. With no family to support them, they would just be sold to red-light districts again. To a life not worth living. Just a flick of the wrist, it would be too fast for the kid to even see or feel.

The very though left a bitter taste on his tongue.

 _The Winter Moon_ had already seen too much blood this night.

Decision made, he cleaned his sword and sheathed it. “I suppose it was fate that led me to this direction tonight,” he remarked. “You have been avenged. Bearing a grudge against these men will not bring your loved ones back.” There was nothing he could do for this kid but to share this crumb of wisdom. One that he had understood all too late—feeling the sword strike true and the smell of blood fog his nostrils when his…

He continued to speak of revenge, of survival. He was not sure if he was talking to the kid or to himself. The kid didn’t seem to understand a thing he said. Foreigner, definitely. Probably didn’t speak right either, he noted and tried to quell his rising irritation.

It didn’t matter, Hiko decided after the briefest of pauses. He felt like talking, and for once there was a fitting audience to his wisdom.

So he shared it.

And left.

It was still a night, but before he had seen the massacre, Hiko had been intending to walk through the moonlit forests, avoiding people and haunting dreams. So, it was okay. He could keep to the plan with this small interruption behind him.

Watching the full moon that graced the sky tonight was a balm to his soul. It was beautiful, calming – it let him forget the memories. Watching beautiful things allowed him to believe that there was a reason for living, some other purpose than fulfilling his duty. The philosophy and legacy that he was bound to ground heavily on his shoulders, and hadn’t offered him comfort in years. 

So he travelled and let his mind rest. It eased the pain in his heart and plagued dreams that his mind would come up with.

The next afternoon he reached a village, a typical tiny countryside post founded on the side of a trade route. Empty houses, few older, painfully thin peasants and a couple vendors at the center. A typical sight these days, but it would do for supplies. He would need some more rice… maybe dried meat and… yes. His sake jug was growing lighter – he definitely needed more alcohol.

He found the food vendors easily enough and paid the full price out of habit.

Bartering was a common custom, but he still wasn’t used to it—or even worrying over money of all things. He had always had plenty, and now that he was a wanderer, it was becoming necessary to save where he could. But bartering was… petty. Only the poor people did it. Hmmph.

That said enough of it.

 However, the village proved to be a major disappointment in one key sector; they didn’t have a proper sake vendor. In hindsight, it was too small for those and his inquiries gained him only the name of a village elder that brewed his own produces. The tone of voice of the person parting with this information told enough of the quality. In any case, Hiko wasn’t too sure he would want to taste the local products.

So he left it at that.

What else did he need? Nothing.

But there was a feeling, a flash of knowledge that there was something he should do. The tingling was just out of reach, almost tangible – what could it be? Then as fast as the feeling had come, the moment was gone.

It was probably nothing important.

With that, Hiko let his restless feet lead him back to the road.

It took him nearly a week to reach his destination—a temple. Not that he was a particularly religious man, but it was now three years since his master’s death, and there was certain propriety in paying a yearly tribute to the old bastard. _May he rest in peace and plague some other poor sod in the afterlife._ There had been no lost love between the two of them, especially after he had learned of the old bastard’s betrayals, but everything was said and done; the old man had been the only person Hiko had truly respected.

Just like a proper student should respect his master.

Not that he had been good at showing it. Hmmph. He couldn’t help but to smile at the memory. _What a rueful and arrogant kid I was back then_...

After he said his words to the urn, Hiko took some time to find a monk. Now was the time to attend to some necessities. This particular temple had monks that were quite skilled indeed in their brewing, and they could be convinced to share their products for a good price.

With his flask full, and the right and proper duties to his late master over and done with, Hiko was again free to do as he wished for a year.

No particular plans in mind; he let his feet lead him.

 

* * *

 

It took the boy days and days to bury all the dead.

But the supply wagon had water and food and he didn’t have anywhere else to go.  And not leaving meant that he could sleep next to Kasumi and Akane and Sakura. Being alone, he could also use all their blankets to build his bed.

So he managed.

He would have preferred to have mother Kasumi and the almost-older-sisters alive with him instead, but he had learned to make do. His world condensed to just that field and the caravan wagons by the road. He had his task, and single-minded stubbornness to finish it.  There was nothing but eating, drinking, sleeping… and grave digging.

When he was finished, the field was filled with soft mounds of upturned earth. The neat rows of graves made him feel quite accomplished. And now that they were all buried, it didn’t smell quite as bad anymore. But what would he do next? No one wanted him and he had nowhere to go, no home to return to.

His breath hitched. _No, no… don’t think._

He was so tired and lonely… It was better not to think, because if he thought about it – it would be too much and he couldn’t, couldn’t – something else, think of something else. Anything else. What did he have? Clothes, his top… and the—

Was he alone? He frowned. With so much to do he hadn’t even though about the spirit-friend since— _Don’t think, don’t._

Exhaling slowly, he sat down on his blankets. No matter what had happened, the spirit should still be there.He just hadn’t talked to it, because… If he was truthful, it could be that he hadn’t felt like being a big brother. It was too hard just to be him, to even think of being anything else. And the spirit was not cheerful company and didn’t understand the boy much. But right now… he was not in a cheerful mood either.

And more than anything, he was lonely.

So he concentrated on the cold feeling and thought a memory of what had happened towards it.

The spirit answered with a warm feeling. The one that felt like it was petting his hair. But this time it didn’t feel like an agreement. Instead, it felt a like what Kasumi had done to the boy. He hiccupped, clenched his eyes shut, and thought that feeling to the coldness.

The spirit just sent the petting comfort feeling again.

It was almost like Kasumi was alive again. Just for a moment. The boy knew that it was not the same, not really. But in the middle of nothingness, it felt like a lifeline.

The boy broke down and started crying.

He did it until the tears didn’t bleed from his eyes anymore. Sometime after, helped along by the almost comforting petting feelings the spirit continued to send, he realized that he wasn’t alone _._

He had his friend with him.

Living inside him, even. No one could take his friend away from him, like the scary bad men had taken Kasumi away from him. They were together, the boy and the spirit.

The realization made him feel better.

After a while of enjoying the warm feeling, he relaxed enough to look at the field filled with graves. They were just softer spots made of raised dirt mounds, really. Far cry from the graves that the boy remembered from the village. Something was missing from them.

‘What is missing from the graves?’ he asked the coldness idly. Still thinking, trying to remember… What was it? He was fairly certain he knew what was missing; he should know. But he had only been at the graveyard once and—

The spirit sent images of crosses standing on graves.

He didn’t know what those meant, but it felt right. But where would he find crosses here? There was nothing cross-shaped lying around _._ What to do, what to do? He thought it also to the spirit, asking for suggestions.

The spirit answered with an image of a wooden cross. It was made from two pieces of wood that were tied together with rope.

‘I can do that,’ the boy realized, immediately cheered.

A trip to the supply wagon was a scrambling mad affair, filled with stumbles and bumps. He was filled with new energy just at the thought of having something more to do. It took some trying, but finally he found rope and a knife to cut wood with.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, the boy became very good at making crosses. At least in his own opinion. It felt good to make things.

It was just as well that he had started marking the graves with crosses from the sidelines, near the forest. It hadn’t been a conscious decision; it was just an easiest place to start finding good twigs or thin enough branches that his clever hands wielding the knife could cut.

But now that he had marked Kasumi’s and Akane’s and Sakura’s graves with crosses, it didn’t feel right. Now… their graves looked exactly the same as all the rest.

The boy sent that feeling to the spirit and the spirit agreed.

It was not _right_.

Kasumi was his second mother, and Akane and Sakura were almost his older sisters. They were more important than rest of the dead bodies. They deserved something special.

With this in mind, the boy circled the thick forest surrounding the field, trying to find something fitting. Thinking.

About graves. Markers. Special things.

And he remembered the stone where his friend used to live; the spirit had hated it, the boy had loved it. But regardless of the feelings, it had been special for both of them. And it had been there for a really long time.

Kasumi’s grave should be special. And be remembered for a long time.

So…

A stone it would be.

A special stone.

The spirit hesitantly agreed.

So the boy prowled the forest and looked for rocks. The rocks should be beautiful, because the girls had been beautiful. They shouldn’t be sharp; the boy didn’t like those. His hands were full of scratches and still painful wounds from sharp rocks.

He found a good rock.

It was big enough to be special. And round. Unfortunately though, he liked it a lot, it was heavy. Not as big as the ugly special stone back at the mountain, but still up to his knees. It was too much for him to lift, so he didn’t even try. But if the boy had learned one thing from burying dead bodies, it was rolling heavy things.

It took hours, and the sun didn’t wait for his efforts at all. He sweated and spoke bad words, pushed and rolled – but it worked. However, when he finally managed to get it into the right place on Kasumi’s grave, Akane’s and Sakura’s graves looked empty next to it.

So he went to find two more stones.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t figure out anything else to do at the graveyard; all the bodies were buried, every grave had a good marker. Second mother Kasumi and almost sisters Akane and Sakura had a good round stone to mark their graves special. He had even tried to find flowers for the graves, just like father had put on mother’s grave. No matter his efforts, there just were no flowers near the field or in the woods.

Maybe it was too late in the autumn for flowers.

Sitting there on his pile of blankets next to Kasumi’s grave and watching graves, he started to feel worse and worse.

He didn’t know what to do.

The spirit didn’t know either.

He could go home. Maybe. But old Ine-sama had sold him. If he went back, she would do it again and get even more money. And the people in the village hadn’t liked him. To be truthful, he hadn’t liked them either. 

But the thing was, home was empty.

He couldn’t go back, not to that. But he didn’t know any other places where he could go either.

Neither did the spirit.

Winter was coming.

So, the boy sat there before the three graves and thought.

 

* * *

 

For some reason, Hiko found his way back to the rarely used trade route passing the massacre site some ten days later. At the village, he had finally remembered what he had been meaning to ask at his last visit – for the villagers to look out for the foreign kid and offer him a place. Perhaps it was the desire to see that his generosity had had a purpose, that his words of wisdom and decision to save the runt’s neck had spawned something good; he inquired after the child’s fate now.

But no child had been seen near the village, the old gossipy vendor told him.

 _What the hell..? But where would... There was nothing for tens of miles in the other direction!_ There had been no other settlements even near the clearing.Needless to say, Hiko’s curiosity was roused. Almost with no thought, he started his way back to the massacre site.

He had known earlier that the road was rarely used, but Hiko had assumed that someone would come by it in a fortnight. But if there had been no one… He grimaced in distaste at the thought of bloated, rotting corpses – probably already half-eaten by opportunistic beasts. Well if nothing else, he should to bury the dead.

Perhaps it was because of his dead certainty of what he would see that he was so stunned when he saw the clearing. The caravan wagons were almost like they had been. But the field… Instead of disgusting leftovers of carnage…

It was a graveyard now.

Neat rows upon rows of graves, marked with poorly made wooden crosses. And not a dead body left lying anywhere.  

It was a _bizarre_ sight.

Who marked graves with crosses? Not proper people! Maybe it was some weird foreign thing? And there, almost at the exact same spot where he had left the broken child… the same kid stood staring at three graves marked with round stones.

That at least somewhat resembled the decent burial arrangements.

The kid was filthy, and as an expert swordsman, Hiko was used to noticing hands in particular, so his gaze fell down and saw an ugly mess. The tiny hands were bruised and bloody, filled with wounds; a blood rot waiting to happen.

The pieces of evidence fitted nicely into place, and Hiko was impressed. That didn’t happen often.

“I notice that you have made graves for bandits as well as your family.” A simple observation, but it let the kid know that he was there. Hiko wasn’t sure the kid was aware of his surroundings, and didn’t intend to cause a scare. The last thing he wanted was to chase the object of his curiosity through the forest.

The kid didn’t react, just kept staring ahead.

Stepping nearer, he assessed the waif more thoroughly—small, dressed in proper Japanese boy’s kimono and hakama pants. Hmm, that was unusual – the peasants didn’t bother with such clothing, preferring to dress their progeny in cheap fabrics and easily replaceable robes. But the quality of cloth and its cut were subtly wrong for a samurai’s child. The seams were clumsy, the pleats were too few to represent the seven virtues; not a mistake any honorable seamstress would make. A foreigner’s mistake?

The child had a slender build and quite narrow shoulders. The fingers were thin, the wrist delicate. The boy’s clothing wasn’t conclusive enough to deduce gender.  The slavers could have dressed the kid in whatever they could find and children sold to slavery were girls these days. It was bothering Hiko that he couldn’t decide for sure. But it was hard to tell with kids that young and that foreigner thing was throwing him off. He hadn’t seen any before, hadn’t really believed that humans could be born in festival colors…

But now that he was close enough to the kid to feel ki… it felt soft and cold, a remarkably large and defined presence in fact. So, a boy with some fighting training, which made the theory of samurai’s child more and more likely, and hadn’t he seen the boy hold a sword earlier? Hiko searched his memory. Yes. The boy had been holding a sword before the girls had protected him. There, a mystery solved.

“…they were slaves, not my family,” a small, soft voice whispered.

Hiko felt his brow rise in disbelief. Ha! The kid could speak properly.

“I was sold to them after my parents died of cholera. After they died, there were no bandits or slaves or slavers. Just dead bodies.”

The kid’s voice was soft and clear, the words delivered without emotion. Like the boy was left empty of feeling. That was a bad sign. But still… the meaning behind those words was pure. Simple. Devoid of anger or hate the swordsman kept expecting to hear. No. Those words were almost beautiful in their simple form.

“What are those stones for?” he asked, curious despite himself. If all the people the boy had buried were the same, it followed that these graves that were marked different would mean more to him.

“Kasumi...  -san. Akane-san. Sakura-san.”

There was something odd in the way the boy said the first name. Like the kid had wanted to add a different honorific to it, or chose to discard the proper but slightly impersonal -san, but chose not to. However, nothing baffled him more than the odd accent; that particularly unrefined manner of recitation just screamed country bumpkin from the deepest mountains in the backcountry.

Hiko was fascinated. The boy unconsciously refused his attempts to categorize him, and continued to lead his deductions astray. A real mystery. It was not often people managed to surprise Hiko, especially not children. Not that he knew any, but still.

“I only met them some days earlier… but I wanted to protect them.”

He didn’t want to interrupt the boy. He wanted to know more, to understand this frail thing in front of him that denied all his assumptions.

“I was the only boy in the group, but they took me in and tried to protect me. ‘Spare the child,’ they said… I was too young to help.”

Hmmph! The mite was not even near to Hiko’s waist; of course he was too young! The mere thought that the boy could protect anyone was ridiculous. But the fact that the boy had wanted to try showed strength.

Not many men were able to fight the paralyzing fear of helplessness, and attempt to conquer it.

An essential ability for a swordsman, and it was one so deeply familiar to Hiko that he couldn’t even remember a time when he hadn’t had it. After all, it was because of this inner strength that his master had chosen him for an apprentice.

_An apprentice._

Hmmm.

Hiten Mitsurugi lay on Hiko’s shoulders alone. It wasn’t right. The style was made to be carried by two; a master and an apprentice. He had known it for a long time, had blatantly ignored the implications before. The old bastard’s death was still heavy on his heart, a deep shadow in his life. But now, it was like a moment of pure clarity, seeing fate offer a choice and then it was up to you to make your pick. You knew what it would mean, that it would change your whole life.

Could he let this chance pass him?

The boy was young, but with unusually defined and impressive ki. The most basic requirement for Hiten Mitsurugi swordsmanship.

It was too early! Hiko Seijuurou the 13th had still a lot of wandering left to do, to carry out his duty to the sword of Mitsurugi. But lately the duty had been heavier. It had chafed him. This boy, this foreign waif, one that spoke like a proper Japanese boy, whose words were careful but shone a simple beauty… This graveyard, the fact that the kid had survived alone in the most horrific situation and retained his strength…

If Hiko walked away again, the boy would never hold a sword. He would never try to protect innocents with a sword again.

What _a waste_ that would be.

A spark was flaring to life in the deep haunting recesses of his soul that had been screaming in agony for years, burdened by the uselessness of his existence.

The boy _should_ wield the sword to protect, and succeed.

“…I wanted them to have special graves, so I wanted good stones. Those are the only ones I could find. I couldn’t even find flowers to put on them…”

Almost on their own volition, his treacherous feet took a step forward. Hiko exhaled, and decision made, walked to the grave stones while uncorking his sake. It was the good sort he had bought from the Temple that was his Master’s final resting place. It was only proper in every way – Hiko’s decision, but in this small way it would also signify the old bastard’s approval.

He poured it slowly on the stones, one by one. Just like the boy had spoken the names.

The boy turned to look at him, pale, pale blue eyes in a fey pale face.

He didn’t recoil, but it was a near thing, such an unnatural sight. To mask his brief revulsion, he explained, “It is unfortunate to enter the nirvana without having tasted good sake, so this is my tribute to them.”

“Thank you.” The words were delivered softly like everything else. No clear emotions to be seen—no hope, no expectation. Like the boy didn’t know to even _wish_ _for_ anything more than what he had now. A pure soul. Clean slate, just waiting to be molded.

“I am Hiko Seijuurou. I am a swordsman.”

“A swordsman?”

 _Oh yes, a swordsman, boy. I will claim you. You will be perfect._ A smile rose to his lips, now. How to get the boy to rise up and live again? To pick up the sword he had dropped, and fight?

Hmmph, but of course.

“Boy. You failed to protect something very delicate.”

By doing as his master had once done to him, pointing out the failure and observing the consequences. “You were entrusted with those three lives. Your hands will remember how heavy their bodies were, but you will carry the far heavier weight of their lives with you forever. “

Reminding of the failure and why it mustn’t happen again. “You have already carried them.”

Prompting to action, to prevent the failure from happening again. “Now you must acquire the strength to support yourself and to protect others.”

Because what else had the sword of Mitsurugi been created for and passed on but just for this? It was a simple truth; strength was necessary, but only to protect those less capable!

“Then you will be able to live your life and defend the lives you cherish.”

Because Hiko had learned something by himself, too. That one man was just a man, and couldn’t protect the whole world.  

So…

“Defend cherished lives?”

He would teach the boy. Everything he knew. And with this boy, Hiko would show the old bastard how the old man had been wrong. This boy would learn how the sword of Mitsurugi should be used to protect! 

Then, with almost an afterthought…

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Shinta.”

Those sold to slavery were registered. And those registries were noted at the checkpoints when travelling from domain to domain. It was obvious that the user of heavenly sword of Mitsurugi couldn’t be a slave, so it was time for the last survivor of the massacre to disappear.

“Much too delicate a name for a swordsman. From now on, your name will be Kenshin.” Heart and Sword. Heart of the Sword. It _would_ suit the boy – better than anything else. 

“Kenshin…” The boy’s too pale eyes were large and round as he tried out the new name.

 “I am going to teach you, boy. Teach you my forte!

 

* * *

 

The boy looked up at the man-spirit in white, mouth slightly open. It was offering to teach him? To fight with swords? To protect?

_Brothers playing in the sun with their cone horses, stick Samurai and mud castles, making up stories of warriors and heroics / Picking up the sword and realizing it wasn’t anything he thought it would be, that it didn’t matter if he had one when he couldn’t use it / Kasumi’s eyes as the blade went through her throat—_

With a sword, he wouldn’t be helpless, wouldn’t have to lose anyone he cared about again. There was nothing more the boy wanted than just that.

But, he wasn’t alone anymore. It wasn’t just his life anymore; he couldn’t make a decision like this alone. So, he thought the memory to his friend – thought how much he wanted this, added a questioning feeling.

The spirit was silent for a moment. And then it answered with an intense bundle of feelings; confusion, distrust, hesitation, hatred of people – others, needing help. And finally…

The petting agreement.

The boy smiled.

Nodded.

So the swordsman-spirit got two students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 10.4.2015 by BelovedStranger.


	5. Underneath the Underneath

# Chapter 4. Underneath the Underneath.

“We should get going. Do you have everything you need?”

The boy looked around. Need, what would he need with him to travel? All these long days, he had survived only because the caravan had had food and water. He couldn’t go long without either. The first morning of grave digging had made that painfully clear. 

A brief glance at the man-spirit—no, Hiko-san— showed that the man didn’t have any supplies with him. Well, nothing but the Sake, the cloak and the sword, but how could he travel so? Perhaps he had something more with him? If so, it had to be hidden under his cloak, but surely even the man-spirit couldn’t have enough for the boy, too?

“Wait a moment,” he told to the man-spirit—Hiko-san—and dashed off to his nest of blankets.

First things first, he slipped his top to his sleeve pocket. Kasumi had given it to him; he couldn’t leave it – it was the only reminder he had of his almost-a-family.

The bed was thick and heavy as it should be. He had made it from the four blankets and sleeping on it had been really nice and warm, but there was no way he could carry all of them alone. The boy bit his lip, anxious, glanced behind him. The man-spirit looked so cold and forbidding. No, there was absolutely no way that he would mess this all up by being a crybaby and asking the swordsman to carry his stuff. A slight hiccupping inhale, and decision made, he took only the most topmost of the blankets with him and rolled it for easier carrying. It had been Kasumi’s, and the boy thought it still smelled a bit like her.

Then off to the supply wagon.

The man-spirit Hiko-san followed him slowly, hard eyes watching his every movement like a hunting cat but never saying a word.

Rummaging through the already familiar food supplies, he found a small enough water jug to carry along. It would do, but the food was a different issue. The vegetables were large and already smelling somewhat funny. The rice was not an option, uncooked as it was, and he wasn’t sure if the man-spirit had means to prepare it either. Perhaps he should ask?

 _But what if it is a stupid question and the man-spirit will get angry at me for asking?_ Old Ine-sama had gotten angry the few times he had dared to ask anything…No, it was better not to annoy the swordsman until he knew more.

But there was still some dried fish left, and though it tasted quite bad, he had gotten somewhat used to it after all this time. So he took as much with him as he could fit in the blanket, and used the left over bits of rope to tie it all up neatly for carrying on his back.

With the preparations done, he ran to man-spirit Hiko-san. Then he glanced up expectantly. The swordsman’s brow was raised in question, and up this close, he didn’t look or seem nearly as scary.

“Ready to go now?”

And the boy nodded.

The man-spirit scoffed, turned around and started walking.

The boy followed.

 

* * *

 

He had to run every now and then just to keep up with the man-spirit’s long steps. No. Hiko-san’s. The man-spirit had a name, so he should use it. _But I don’t know the man-spirit well enough – isn’t it kind of rude to call someone with just their name?_

Back when Mother had taught him about honor words, she had kept reminding him that using the wrong one would be rude. If one added too high an honor to a name, it would remind the person that he was not worth that honor. To add too low of an honor was an even worse insult.

 _Shinta-chan, if it’s too hard, just add –san to the name. Or you can be silent and stay close to me._ A faint smile and a whisper of laughter echoed with the memory and the boy swallowed, rubbed his eyes – just to make sure they were dry. _Don’t think, don’t try to remember and it hurts less._

But what word should he add to man-spirit’s name? What would fit the best? The man-spirit’s wide back and the flowing cape didn’t give the boy any hints. The white cloth was so odd, and mostly reminded the boy ofthe heroes in father’s evening tales, when he could be convinced to tell one.

_Don’t think!_

No, everything in the man-spirit was just too odd, the boy decided after a while. The way he walked, dressed, spoke… It all gave the boy a firm certainty that choosing an honor word too low would be a big mistake. But what was too high? Surely the man-spirit was no lord, or a village elder… How could the boy choose? Even the usually acceptable –san didn’t suit name the Hiko at all and the person it belonged to.

_It’s impossible! There are no good options!_

And somehow, the man-spirit felt cold and distant—just like the spirit-friend, who didn’t like people at all. Did he dare ask? But what if the man-spirit didn’t want to hear him speak? What if it would find the questions annoying like old Ine-sama?

If it wanted him to talk, it would ask questions, the boy reasoned. Yes, it was better to be silent.

After all, he didn’t know why the man-spirit had decided to take him with it, and he didn’t want to be alone again. And the promise of learning sword fighting—he definitely didn’t want to give that up! The man-spirit had been really good with the sword, killing the bandit so easily; surely he could teach the boy to fight just as well?

But what if the man-spirit decided that he was not good enough? Or what if it had lied? What reason did it have to offer him these things he wanted? Should he even trust it? What if it was just doing what the old Ine-sama had done…?

He didn’t want to be sold ever again, to feel that he wasn’t a person, wasn’t any more important than a bucket, and that no one would or even should care—

_No. Never again. It had felt awful._

The boy shared these thoughts with his friend, who also seemed to be unsure about the man-spirit Hiko-san. A long discussion followed, but together they agreed to wait and see. After all, it was possible that the man-spirit was speaking the truth. But at the first sign of something else… well, the boy and the spirit had managed before.

The issue of what they should call the man-spirit, though, was settled with a decision that the swordsman couldn’t be harsh enough to abandon them for just one question. And if it was, then maybe it was better to know now, than later. But _when_ should he ask it?

_Now?_

However, the man-spirit Hiko-san’s large back was so forbidding. Maybe there would be a better moment if he just waited?

Ah! The swordsman had again gotten ahead of him! The boy almost said a bad word, and ran.

He had gotten used to walking all day long with the slave caravan, and the soles of his feet had grown hard to make it easier, so he didn’t even get blisters anymore. But, the caravan had moved slowly.

The man-spirit didn’t.

Just to keep up, he had to run every now and then. It was because the man-spirit was so big and had really long legs, the boy reasoned. It was just a normal way of walking for the man-spirit Hiko-san. It wasn’t that the swordsman was intentionally trying to leave him behind. _No, no. It can’t be. I couldn’t have annoyed him so badly already…_

But no matter the reasoning, the occasional running was making the boy tired really fast. It was harder to breathe; there was this sting in his chest and the back of his kimono was clinging to his back. He really should say something to the man-spirit in white, who was walking so calmly in front of him, never once looking back.

The bed roll slung over his shoulder was really awkward to carry, and it was getting heavier. How could he talk to the man-spirit? What would he call him? Honorable Hiko-san, please, can we stop for a moment? No, that would be complaining and old Ine-sama hadn’t wanted to hear any complains; she had warned him not to make a nuisance of himself. Maybe that was why she had sold him? If he demanded stupid things, would the man-spirit—

_No, no, don’t think._

There was no way he could risk it.

After all, the swordsmen were big and tough men, and even though the boy was just a boy, he was a big boy and should be tough. If he wasn’t tough enough, the man-spirit would definitely think that he wasn’t worth the trouble and leave him.

So sweating, and trying to catch his breath, he followed the swordsman.

 

* * *

 

Hiko had chosen to follow the road. He didn’t want to visit the village for the third time in a short while, especially not with his new apprentice along. So, that left only one reasonable option; the direction where the caravan had come from.

Before they had left, he had given the boy a chance to take his things with him. It was partly a test to satisfy his curiosity, but also sheer necessity. Who knew what the boy valued and couldn’t leave? He wouldn’t stand a crying child’s whining.

The kid had dashed around the caravan looking for his possessions and whatever supplies he wanted to take. Hiko had kept an eye on the boy but hadn’t interfered or looted the wagons. He might be a wanderer now with no clear income, but he hadn’t stooped low enough to rob from the dead.

The boy was different, the last survivor. It was all his by right.

When it was all done, Hiko started walking and had let the boy decide whether to follow or not, that much of a choice he could grant the kid. It was all laid down on the table, an honest offer with high requirements; a path to becoming a killer and duty heavier than a mountain, or leaving and finding the village in the other direction, and the decent and normal people therein that could possibly look after an additional child.

Without a hesitation the boy followed, keeping a dutiful distance.

_So be it._

Hmmph, Hiko scoffed but couldn’t help the slight hint of a smile that rose to his lips.

_It’s like leading a puppy._

To satisfy his curiosity, he kept glancing behind from the corner of his eye. It wouldn’t do to stare openly, that would only scare the kid.

The boy followed him easily enough, he noted with surprise. The short legs had to take five steps to his two, but that was the way it would be. If he made it easy for the boy and coddled him, the boy wouldn’t grow strong. No. Though small, the boy would have to grow fit to handle the training to come. One of the perks of travel was that it was excellent for building endurance. And regarding training, there was no reason not to start early.

And, to be truthful, Hiko didn’t want to linger near the massacre graveyard. It roused memories of blood and carnage in his mind that he would rather let lie where they belonged.

The boy was interesting, though. Hiko was constantly expecting the boy to demand him to slow down – he would have at that age. But the boy didn’t. He just silently struggled and followed him. Occasionally, he would stare ahead with a blank look in his eyes, like he had his head in the clouds. Hiko didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe the boy was thinking of something? Or remembering?

In any case, it was a bad habit.

 _Thinking like that leaves you open for attacks, and remembering…_ Hiko had intimate experience why remembering was not good for you either. The boy probably had memories more suitable for horror stories than for the mind of a child. So, something should be done about that habit. He didn’t know where to start. _No matter – it will come to me in time. And it’s not the first priority when it comes to that child._

No, what was important right now was to get the waif cleaned up. And those hands needed to be looked after. _Hmmm, where is the nearest water by this road again?_ Hiko searched his memory; ah, there was a lake next to the road some miles out. It would do for a campsite.

Travel plan decided, he marched on.

 

* * *

 

The sun had set and it was getting really dark, but the man-spirit just walked on. The boy didn’t know why, though; by this time of the day, the slavers had always stopped to make camp. Perhaps he should ask about it, but the things he wished to ask the man-spirit about were quickly piling up and he hadn’t dared to voice a single one of them yet.

Among those questions, the reason for travelling at night was nowhere near the most important one.

Besides, the moon shone bright, making the road easy to see.

Soon the boy realized that if he didn’t think how tired and hurt he was, it wasn’t so bad. The problem was finding a suitable distraction; walking through a dark forest road wasn’t exactly good for that as he couldn’t see far enough to find anything interesting. The white cloak of the man-spirit could hold his attention only for so long, so he fell back to talking with his spirit-friend. It was a little bit tricky to concentrate long enough for the brief exchanges of images and emotions. He didn’t dare to try for longer talks yet, because while he was getting better at walking and thinking to the spirit at the same time, he didn’t want to bump into a tree or anything. The man-spirit-Hiko-san would find him stupid and weird if he did that and might decide not to keep him.

Still, the exhaustion kept creeping up on him. His feet felt swollen and heavy and even breathing was becoming a struggle against the ache in his chest and managing to draw in enough air…

But the man-spirit walked on.

Try as he might, the boy’s feet wouldn’t move fast enough anymore. So, bit by bit he fell behind more and more.

_No, I don’t want to be left alone._

_Not again._

 

* * *

 

The waif was falling behind, Hiko noticed. It had taken longer than he had assumed, but then again, the slaves had been travelling by foot. It was a logical conclusion that the boy was used to travelling throughout the day. However, it didn’t look like the kid could keep it up much longer. So, subtly, Hiko slowed down his space. It wouldn’t do to let him out of his sight. The kid could fall down on his face at any moment now; he looked that tired.

Not that it was a big deal. The lake was just ahead and then they could stop to make a camp.

They had made it in good time; it was only a few hours after midnight. The moon was high, illuminating the road with pale rays. Ah, there it was; a small clearing next to the road with a path down to the lakeshore that he remembered from before.

There he stopped and waited for the miserable waif that was supposed to be his apprentice.

The boy hadn’t yet noticed he had stopped, but instead just trudged ahead like the living dead with his head in the clouds again. _What on earth is going on in that mind?_

 _Hmmph, I really need to get the kid out of that habit…_ The only people who Hiko had seen being out of the world like that were simpletons, wasteful bags of flesh, who were of no use to anyone, or sick men drunk on the milk of the poppy.

 _It is_ _unnatural_.

Those pale unfocused eyes and tiny feet beating the road in a steady slow pattern, harsh and fast breathing, filthy clothing that clung to the skin, bloody and bruised hands—the waif was truly a pitiful sight.

And a smelly one, too.

Hiko cleared his throat.

The boy stopped like a deer caught in the field by surprise, his eyes cleared and focused on him.

“We will be making camp here,” Hiko informed the kid.

The boy looked hopeful.

“I will start the fire. Leave your stuff here and go take a wash on the shore. You reek.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the boy let the bedroll fall down to his feet. Then he looked up at Hiko with a distrustful look, but after slight hesitation, he rose, turned and started to make his way to the waterfront.

Hiko shook his head. Wh _at was that about? Well, whatever it was, it can be left alone for now._

First things first, he was getting hungry, so it was prudent to make the fire for boiling the rice. The forest surrounding the camp spot had some reasonably dry twigs for the fire, Hiko noted with satisfaction. Also, boiling the water would be useful for cleaning the boy’s mangled hands. It wouldn’t do to lose a finger or two from infection and the resulting wound rot. _That_ would wreck his plans for his new apprentice right there. After all, healthy hands were an essential tool to swordsmen—fingers were the source of balance for the blade.

True, one could compensate, yes. But to start training a kid that young who was already damaged? It would be absolutely senseless.

Hiko frowned, and scanned the drier looking branches. A swift strike with the Winter Moon cut the wood easily. Once he would have thought using his sword for menial chores an unspeakable heresy. Now, he had learned to swallow his pride on practicalities.

Regarding the boy, though, Hiko couldn’t quite decide how old he believed the kid to be—he was so small. There were rumors that the foreigners aged differently, so maybe that explained some of it. In any case, the kid couldn’t be younger than five nor older than ten, Hiko reasoned; a sufficiently large scope to cover for all possibilities.

For training purposes, both ends of the scale were inconvenient to say at least. Five meant too young to start training with the swords properly as the constantly growing limbs would be incapable of a firm motor control. Also, there would be a need for basic schooling, Hiko realized with a pang of dread.

_Surely he can’t be that young, no, it couldn’t be._

Teaching anyone to read or write was decidedly _not_ included in Hiko’s plans for life. But on the other hand, the older the kid was, the closer he would be to puberty. The swordsman didn’t quite sputter, but it was a near thing when the horrified awareness of all the challenges of child rearing started to come to him.

Perhaps this might be more difficult than he was capable of… After all, what did he know of children that wasn’t based on his own childhood? Nothing. Was this the correct choice? Maybe he should escort the kid to the nearest village and see that the waif had a place there, and then he could go on with his life like he was used to. _No. What comes will come in time and I will conquer all the challenges._ He gritted his teeth. Hiko Seijuurou the 13 th was not in the habit of second guessing himself, thank you very much, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Besides, raising a kid—a swordsmanship apprentice or not—couldn’t be that hard. Women did it all the time.

Armload of almost dry wood with him, he returned to the designated camping spot. The boy had not yet returned. _What could take that long?_ he pondered and struck spark to the twigs with the flint. When he had been young, he had hated bathing outdoors. And the lake water had to be freezing. There was nothing that would cause him to want to linger. No. His master had thrown him into the cold water often enough to “cool down that temper.”

Hmmph. Needless to say, Hiko was not fond of cold water.

A fire was starting to form nicely and the fire didn’t look like it needed tending. So, he laid down the rest of the twigs and branches that he had collected close to the fire to dry. The moist twigs gave out a bit too much smoke, but oh well. Some smoky scent on clothes was a small price to pay and would serve to overpower the stink of the fresh graveyard.

Hm. What else was needed? Ah, some water to boil rice with. Hiko nodded to himself and rose; it would be good to check up with the boy at the same time. The small bundle, where he carried his supplies under his cloak, revealed a travelling kettle. Taking it with him, he headed to the lake shore.

 

* * *

 

When the man-spirit Hiko-san told him to leave his things, the boy felt a shadow of doubt. Most of the stuff in his bedroll was necessary, but not something that he couldn’t replace. The sole exception being his top. So, when he put down the bedroll, he slipped his hand between the folds and grabbed the wooden toy.

He was quite sure that the man-spirit hadn’t seen him doing so.

With his precious toy with him, the boy took the small path leading downwards to the lakeshore that the man-spirit had gestured him to. It was a bit slippery and his swollen and tired feet were not exactly steady, so he took his time.

The moon shone on the water. It looked pretty. Quiet.

It didn’t escape him that he had seen this lake before. It was the same one that the caravan had stopped by to make camp earlier, and on the shore close by, Kasumi had asked him to be her second son. There she had become his second mother.  

It was hard to breathe, like there was something lodged in his throat. But it didn’t make any sense; why did it hurt?

It was just a lake.

The boy shakily made his way to the water, slipped out of his clothes and started to wash. The water was freezing. It reminded him of home. Back there in the mountains, the well water had often been cold like this. He swallowed and struggled to reign in his tears. If he started crying, he wouldn’t ever stop and nothing would get done.

Besides, it had been with Kasumi that he had been allowed to be the baby and she was dead now. 

So, he knelt and scooped up some of the finer sand to wash up with. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but his skin had become grimy during the time in the graveyard. His hands throbbed and the sand felt awful against the raw wounds. But he didn’t want to be dirty. Kasumi and mother both would have yelled at him for being so.

And somehow, the pain of scrubbing his skin lessened the choking feel in his throat.

He stayed in the water until he felt numb all over and the skin in his hands and feet was all wrinkly and soft. He felt clean. It was a good feeling.

His clothes stank on the shore. The very thought of dressing in them felt awful.

So, the boy took his shirt and started scrubbing the cloth with the sand. It was dark and he didn’t see if it did any good for the stains in the cloth. Mother had given him this shirt and the matching hakama pants last year. She had sewn them herself. _‘They are for your Samurai games, Shinta-chan,’_ herlaughing voice told him in memory, accompanied by a smile tugging at her lips and her eyes soft with love. The rest of her face was blurry, and even though he tried to focus on it to fill in the details, none came to him. _What color had her eyes been? Dark grey? It was so long ago, but surely I should remember this…_

He hiccupped and the almost overwhelming pain was back. _No, better not to think._

In any case, the shirt had been the first new piece of clothing that he had ever owned. It had been green, of _that_ he was sure of, and he had been so proud to have it. It had been made just for him – not like the ones he had had before, all his older brothers’ cast offs.  

He had loved that shirt.

 _“The green color really sets off nicely against your red hair, my darling baby. I shall have to try to get more cloth of that shade next year.”_ Mother’s faint laughing voice continued to whisper, and the boy sniffled and kept rubbing; the sickness had come before she had a chance to. Now the shirt was some dark grimy color, and one could never guess that it had been green once.

For some reason, it suited the boy just fine. He, too, was different than he had been. No one back in the village would recognize him now.

‘The change - is it okay?’ he wondered to his spirit-friend. _To change_ – _but Kasumi had asked me to never change…_

Eyes wide he stared blankly ahead, and started to shake in distress. She would be so disappointed at him. Already he had broken her wishes, even without intending to—

The spirit-friend interrupted his panicky fretting with memories like usual. This time, though, it showed him pictures of people. No. It seemed to be the same person, but in different ages? What was the spirit trying to say?

The person in these memories looked different in every picture. As a boy, the person looked happy. Then, taller and older, the look in his eyes was different, more focused; the mouth was no longer openly smiling. In the next one, he was wearing adult clothes. He was not even nearly as old as father had been, but the eyes looked hard and the mouth was a tight line. There was pain? More pictures still and a different look every time – but always the same man.

“Even if he grew up, it was always the same person? This is what you are trying to tell me?” the boy asked aloud just to fill the silence.

There was that petting agreement feeling again.

 _But why is it showing me this?_ It wasn’t like the unfamiliar boy growing into a man was anyone important to the boy… But, wait—his question! His eyes widened when it all began to make sense. Perhaps the spirit was saying that he wasn’t changing, not really? That he was just growing up, exactly like the man in the pictures?

If so, maybe he hadn’t betrayed Kasumi after all?  And maybe, she wouldn’t be disappointed in him for doing it.

 _So, maybe, it could also mean…_ _that it isn’t a bad thing that I am changing?_

Another petting sensation.

He didn’t cry in relief, but it was a near thing. Instead, he let the shirt fall into the water and wiped his face, rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes. He took a deep inhalation and then let all the tension fall away with the exhalation.

 _I didn’t do anything wrong;_ _Kasumi isn’t angry at me._

It wasn’t okay, it would never be okay, but he didn’t feel quite as bad anymore. He was just growing up. Kasumi was gone, true, but he hadn’t betrayed her.

The boy looked to the shore, to the pile of discarded clothing. There, on top of the pile lay a colored piece of wood.

Kasumi’s top.

 _‘Live, live for me Shinta…’_ she had said that night.

_I really don’t want to disappoint Kasumi._

He thought this to the spirit and was rewarded by another petting comforting feeling. With the new resolution achieved, he returned to the shore and hung his shirt to dry on a low hanging branch. Then he took his hakama pants and returned to wash them.

 

* * *

 

Hiko had been intending to fetch the boy or to just hurry him up, but seeing that the boy was not up to anything harmful, he didn’t feel like interrupting. Instead, he kept watching from the shadows of the trees surrounding the lakeshore.

The kid was washing his clothes, and there was already some drying on a low branch.

A reasonable action, Hiko noted with a frown, but not very farsighted. The damp cloth wouldn’t dry well out here. The morning was cold and misty. When the sun rose, it would help but in the meanwhile…

The boy was pale as winter and even smaller now that there was no misshapen layer of poor quality cloth covering him. A sorry sight, too. His ribs were showing. In the next village, Hiko would need to stock up more food, especially meat to gain muscle on that form. It was no wonder that the boy hadn’t been able to lift the sword well. However, it was a pleasant surprise that the boy looked healthy enough. There were no large wounds or contusions on the skin, no large scars either. It suggested that the boy had been either fortunate or obedient.

But then again, the slave caravan _had_ been for pleasure slaves. So it made sense that the boy wouldn’t be beat harshly, not enough to leave scars at least – the slaves had to be beautiful. Hiko couldn’t be sure what the life as a slave had been like for the boy, but the surface evidence didn’t show any physical abuse, not that it did any to disclaim the more revolting options…

The feeling of utter disgust turned his mood even sourer.

It was a good thing that the slavers hadn’t reached their destination. He couldn’t imagine that life for any child.

Staying in the water that long couldn’t be healthy, regardless of the temperature, and that lake water had to be freezing cold. _I wouldn’t stay there voluntarily for a minute, not even if I was paid to._ Hiko stepped out in the open and went to fill his kettle.

The boy looked like he was lost in his head.

Again.

Time to break it up.

Purposefully, Hiko stepped on stones so that his steps made a crunching noise, just to warn the boy that he was there.

The boy jumped like a scared rabbit, turned swiftly and the wide open eyes immediately zeroed in on him. _Good instincts_ , Hiko noted with approval and commented casually, “It’s cold out here. Come out, I have a fire going. Better to dry out your clothes there, too.”

The boy nodded warily.

Without any further comment, Hiko took his leave.

The fire looked good and the twigs no longer gave out smoke. However, the flames had eaten almost all of the wood, so he added a few drier pieces to the fire. He didn’t have the patience to wait for the coals tonight, as just watching the boy washing in the freezing water had made him shiver in sympathy. A warm meal would be just the thing. It didn’t take long to find a suitable willow branch and set the kettle hanging from it over the fire.

The water was heating nicely by the time he heard faint footsteps from the path.

Ah, the boy was returning—finally. The kid was still naked, shivering and the pale skin had taken an odd blue tinge, and he was carrying the bundle of his wet clothes.

 _A truly pitiful sight_ , Hiko noted with a sigh. Well, it wouldn’t do to let the brat catch pneumonia on top of everything else. With a grunt, he heaved himself to his feet, and stripped out of his cloak and shirt.

“Here. Put this on or you will catch a cold.”

The boy looked at his offering hesitantly and then glanced down at the wet pile of clothes in his arms.

“Just lay those out on grass near the fire. It will serve for the moment.”

With that, the waif came clearly to a decision and kneeled to put down the wet bundle, and started slowly inching towards him, then reached –

When the kid grabbed the offered shirt, Hiko just shook his head in exasperation. _T_ o _ok you long enough._

And then the kid had the gall to _sniff_ at the shirt!

The silent critique was all too clear and Hiko scoffed, amused despite the rudeness and fought against the smile that was tugging at his lips. Finally giving up the effort, he grudgingly admitted, “It’s not clean, but it is dry.”

A shy smile in return.

 _It really is quite cold out here._ Hiko shivered and rubbed his arms. _How did the kid manage to stand it?_ The dampness in the air drove the cold straight to his bones, or at least it felt like it and the deeper scars in his body ached in answer, reminding him of their existence. No, it was not good weather to tramp around without clothes. Thankfully, he still had his cloak, no matter that the old bastard would spin in his grave for the sacrilege.

The boy had pulled on his shirt, but the garment was ridiculously large on him. The hem fell all the way to the ground regardless of the kid’s efforts to make it functional attire; the sleeves were rolled up clumsily and the kid’s drying belt was used to tie the improvised robe shut.

 _Not exactly ideal, but it will do for immediate purposes_ , Hiko nodded in approval, before idly stoking the fire and then checking on the water. It was just about to boil.

The boy laid down the wet clothes to dry on the grass.

Those hands really didn’t look good. Exhaling, he controlled the flash of temperament. The kid was hesitant about him, as he damn well should be. Coming on with too much force would only scare the waif away, he reasoned and toned down his voice from commanding to calming. “Boy. Come here. I want to take a look at your hands.”

The boy – Kenshin - glanced up at him, but came closer with only a brief hesitating pause.

Clearly some of the ice was broken.

The offered hands were tiny, and easily swallowed by his larger palms. With a frown, he looked them over. _As I thought._

Those small hands were filled with ill healed scratches and scrapes, and some of them had clearly opened up multiple times. Washing them in water had cleaned away the dirt, but it only served to make it clearer that a few of the scratches could cause complications; one in the left palm, second on the side of the thumb and two quite deep ones near the right hand’s fingertips. The pale skin softened from the boy’s bath showed some reddening near the deeper wounds, suggesting possible infection.

Not quite as bad as he had feared, but not well by any means either.

The wounds would need to be cleaned and kept clean. The lack of puss told that the infection hadn’t sunk in fully, but it was a close call; anything could happen. It was almost a miracle that the blood rot hadn’t claimed the fingers. For gods’ sake, the boy had handled corpses without anything to protect his hands – with open wounds, no less!

 _It was pure idiocy._ Hopefully, it indicated only lacking knowledge, which he would take steps to correct, rather than poor thinking ability.

No sense of fretting over it now. Hiko shook his head and said with a firm, calm voice, “We need to clean these wounds, boy.”

The kid looked up at him, glanced at the path leading to the lake front and back at him, clearly confused.

“No. Water is not enough. Not for wounds that have been near unclean things. In fact, all wounds should be cleaned and kept clean like this, so it’s good a lesson for you.” Hiko had let the boy’s hands fall from his grip while he considered his options.

He would need something to tie up the wounds to keep them clean. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but the supplies he currently carried were quite meager. After being on the road for quite a while and never encountering immediate problems, he hadn’t felt the need to stay stocked. The lack of foresight would be the cause of never ending problems for him, his master had always told him. Before today, he hadn’t really understood the point in the old bastard’s constant nagging.

A few shredded strips from his shirtsleeve, donated by an increasingly bewildered waif, become serviceable bandages. A few minutes in boiling water rendered the strips sufficiently clean. The kid’s eyes followed all his actions, never losing track and kept demanding explanations that he found himself offering casually without thinking.

 _It had been years since I last spoke freely like this_. And somehow, unconsciously, Hiko began to relax.

Until it was time for the ugly phase.

“Boy, hands.”

Obediently, the boy held them out.

Taking the sake, he took hold of the boy’s left hand—that palm wound really was an ugly one—and warned, “This will hurt.”

When he poured the sake on those wounds, the boy yowled and tried to pull his hand away.

Hiko didn’t let him; instead, he put the bottle down and rubbed the alcohol into the wound. The boy had tears in his eyes and desperately tried to fight the pain.

 _Good boy_ , he nodded in approval and took hold of the bottle again.

“Next, the thumb.”

 

* * *

 

The boy panted, and blinked to clear the tears out of his eyes.

Sake in wounds _hurt._

He wasn’t sure why the man-spirit Hiko-san did this, but he didn’t seem to enjoy causing him pain, and he had given him his shirt. _No one does that._ _He doesn’t even have a spare, and it’s a cold morning,_ the boy thought, and just for that tried to trust the man-spirit and let him do this crazy thing.

The wounds throbbed and the sake burned, but the at least the intense flashes didn’t last long, which gave the boy encouragement to fight the pain. _Soon, it will be over… just a little bit more_ , he chanted in his head and tried to find distractions.

It really was an odd thing to do, to pour sake into wounds. He had never tasted the drink, but he had seen father do so and knew that it was expensive. To waste that much money on washing seemed stupid. It had to have a point to it; no one would waste money like that without a reason. Maybe the spirit-friend would know?

His friend answered with an image of older man cleaning another man’s ugly and large wound with sake. _So other people do that, too, which means it isn’t just something that the crazy man-spirits in white cloaks do._

‘So it helps?’ the boy thought to the spirit.

The petting comfort feeling.

The man-spirit took hold of his right hand and pulled him back to reality. The scratches didn’t seem so bad in this palm, the boy thought clinically. Man-spirit seemed to agree and concentrated on cleaning the deeper cuts at the fingertips. The boy hissed as the sake hit the wound, but his eyes didn’t water anymore. He was getting used to the feeling.

Then the man-spirit was finished.

“Just let your hands dry out and don’t touch anything. Not if you don’t want me to clean the wounds with sake again.”

The boy blinked in surprise. _Again, just for touching something?_ He shuddered and shook his head vigorously.

The man-spirit smiled and let out a small breathy laugh, then, “Good boy.”

For some reason, those words felt really good. It had been a while since anyone had said it to him, so he smiled in return.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night had gone well after that. Hiko had fetched more water, finally managed to cook the rice for dinner and given the boy some. The kid – Kenshin – had taken the food and then dashed to the bed roll and returned with some dried fish that he had offered in return.

A simple exchange.

Hiko didn’t know what to think of it, so he hadn’t made a comment. Instead, he had accepted the offering and turned to his own meal, which had provided the next hurdle—the utensils. Hiko’s travelling supplies carried only one pair of chopsticks and the kid had freshly cleaned hands with clean bandages.

He might be a proud and educated man, but even he could abandon decorum to eat with fingers in dire situations. It wasn’t like the rice was particularly difficult food for that anyways. The dried fish softened amongst the rice nicely, and wasn’t as distasteful to eat.

At the corner of his eye, he did keep an eye out for his little walking mystery.

Kenshin used the chopsticks like a native.

 _Hmmm, maybe he was been born here and at least one of his parents was Japanese?_ It would explain this unspoken knowledge of the proper way of living. His curiosity flared; perhaps it was the proper time to start unraveling this little ball of mixed messages?

“Boy, where are you from?”

The kid paused, and looked up from the rice bowl. He chewed, swallowed and then tilted his head in obvious question. Receiving no other prompt the boy frowned, and finally answered. “The mountain.”

Well, that told Hiko absolutely nothing. Japan was filled with mountains; everywhere one travelled in the country, the mountains always loomed. Perhaps he should try again with different words, but what was the chance that the kid would know the exact place on a map that Hiko didn’t have, or that even knowing the location would be of any use? Japan didn’t have many foreigners, but they always stayed near the capital or larger harbors now that black ships had forcefully opened the country to foreign trade just two years ago.

It was an unspoken fact that no foreigner would be able to go to the back country, and the kid’s accent couldn’t be from anywhere else.

He frowned and wondered how to form the question that he really wanted to ask. If the location wasn’t essential, perhaps the parents’ would give him better clue. So he tried from another angle. “Was anyone in your family different?”

“Me. The villagers called me bad luck.”

 _Damn it all to hell_ , Hiko cursed silently and shook his head. _Time to abandon the polite circling of the issue._

“Who was the foreigner in your family?”

“What does foreigner mean?” the boy countered with innocent wide blue eyes.

Hiko crunched his teeth in frustration, temper flaring. He really wanted to hit something.

A clattering noise interrupted his stewing and immediately he looked up. The boy had dropped the rice bowl and was crawling backwards, face white with terror.

Immediately Hiko controlled his flaring ki.

And just like that, the look of utter terror disappeared from the boy’s face, but he stayed away still, looking rather more like a scared animal than a human child.

It was only logical, for the boy didn’t trust him yet. But still, such a harsh reaction from a simple flare of temperament? The kid must have been beaten or perhaps— _No, unlikely in the extreme. No child could feel ki without training. The reaction has to be just a coincidence._

 _And now is definitely not the time to think more on that._ Hiko sighed; his fits of temper were not something he could afford right now. Not if he wanted to build trust between them, and he murmured, “Come back here. I won’t hit you.”

With that, Hiko returned to his own meal.

The waif took a while to come back near the fire and to pick up the bowl.

_Oh well, back to square one._

Exhaustion had started to weigh on him; it had been a long night and the dawn was already breaking. He really wasn’t up to this right now. “Let’s take a rest. I will wake you when we move out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 3.5.2015 by BelovedStranger


	6. Memory

# Chapter 5. Memory

 

The boy woke to clattering noises. Someone was moving close to him! Without a second thought, he had already dashed away from the sound. His heart was trying to leap away from his chest as he shook and stared in crazed fright.

It was just the man-spirit, kneeling by the fire and his brow was raised in a mocking question. 

The boy felt a bit silly. Ashamed, really. The man-spirit hadn’t harmed him in any way, thus far at least, so why was he still scared? No answers forthcoming, the boy inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm his panicky breathing. It was midday, judging by the sun’s height on a cloudy sky. He must have slept for hours and hours. Oddly, he still felt really tired.

A few feet away, the man-spirit Hiko-san was setting up a fire.

 _Maybe we will eat again?_ The boy’s stomach growled hopefully.

“Here, go fill this by the lake.”

Pulled from his thoughts, the boy went to take the offered kettle hesitantly and headed for the lake. A yell sounded from behind him. “And don’t get your hands wet!”

Smiling by this sign of caring, the boy nodded. _No, I shouldn’t be so afraid anymore._

The downward path was easier to walk this time, though he had to lift the hem of the large shirt to avoid tripping. The ground had dried and wasn’t as slippery as it had been last night, and sunlight certainly helped. The trees were painted in autumn colors, reds and yellows. Some leaves had already dropped. The weather had been getting steadily colder. It would have been horrible to sleep in the damp clothing.

The loaned shirt was really warm. 

He crouched at the lake shore and considered first the kettle in hand, then his carefully wrapped hands. The man-spirit’s threat of cleaning the wounds again came to his mind. So, carefully, the boy took hold of the handle and tipped the kettle in the water, tilted and lowered it.

The water gushed in and he smiled in satisfaction.

The lake was really pretty in the daylight, too. It didn’t feel so bad to look at it this time, he decided. Feeling better than he had in weeks, the boy made his way back to camp.

 

* * *

 

Hiko hadn’t slept long, just a few hours.

This wasn’t unusual for him, as he had spent the better part of the last few years avoiding dreams. The sun was already high up in the sky when he finally sat up and stretched. The old wound in his back was smarting like a bitch. Some bends and winces later, he had come to a firm conclusion that sleeping with only his cloak as cover wasn’t to be done ever again. Not if it could somehow be avoided.  

He had almost recovered his bearings when an odd and faint snuffling sound caught his ear. There was no one there but him and the kid. Where was that coming from? A flexing of his aura confirmed they were alone.

So, it _was_ the kid? 

Kenshin had made his bed next to the fire, but on the opposite side of him. In fact, as far as possible, while still being able to enjoy the warmth. Hardly a surprising action, that. The kid slept like a curled up animal, a small still bundle. The only thing that gave away that the boy was still alive was the steady rise of chest and that odd soft snuffling sound.

_It’s almost cute._

Hiko shook his head, appalled. Of all the things…

In any case, they were in no hurry to go anywhere and he, too, needed a bath. Also, it would be a good chance to wash their clothes, he though and glanced again at the sleeping kid wearing his shirt.

_Well, it’s hardly a priority. It’s better for the kid to sleep while he can._

It was a few hours later, at noon, when the kid finally woke up. Hiko was aware of his awakening from the change in breathing and the feel of ki but hadn’t let that stop his chores. A slightly too loud pang of kettle against the firewood, and suddenly the half-awake kid was dashing away from him in fright. Hiko didn’t react, already having expected such a reaction from the jumpy child. Instead, he just raised his brow in question and reined in the sarcastic comment rising automatically on his lips.

The kid had enough issues and commenting on them wouldn’t help either of them.

The kid’s embarrassed blush told that he had made a correct choice. So, continuing on a hunch, he diffused the awkward situation by sending the boy off to get some water. Maybe he was getting a hang of this. After all, it wasn’t that difficult to guess the boy’s actions, becausemore than anything else, the kid – Kenshin – behaved like any battle-worn and stressed man would in similar situations, or just like himself...

It wasn’t a line of thinking he wanted to pursue, least of all while he was sober. 

The fire was going nicely when the kid returned. The rice was set to boil over the fire and he noted aloud that the boy’s bandages seemed clean enough.

The smile he received in answer was… sweet.

The boy was still in the loaned shirt, Hiko noted. Before he had set off to sleep, he had taken time to set the kid’s damp clothing on the lower branches of a nearby willow. By now they would be as dry as they would get, so he took them down and offered them to the boy.

Kenshin smiled in thanks and he nodded in answer.

Returning to the cooking, he added some of his last few pieces of dried meat to soften up with the rice. He wasn’t one for idle conversation, so the kid’s continuous silence was, well, comfortable. In hindsight, he was aware that children were loud and energetic creatures, full of annoying questions and needless chatter. Compared to that, this silence between him and Kenshin felt like a blessing. On the other hand, what if…

Sound of shuffling of feet nearby pulled him out of his musings. The boy was standing close to him, looking like he wanted something.

 _Ah, of course. The shirt._ Hiko calmly accepted the offering and considered the situation. “Just sit down. The food will be done soon.”

 _Why doesn’t the boy speak to me? Wouldn’t it have been easier to get my attention with words instead of that hesitant shuffling of his feet?_ While it wasn’t hard to understand the boy, and he knew that the boy could speak if he wanted to, this silence started to seem more peculiar. After all, compared to what he knew to be normal behavior for children, this was anything but.

_Should I do something about it?_

On one hand, he would risk losing this comfortable state of affairs. Hiko didn’t like people and had made an art form out of avoiding them and their constant chatter and never ending complaints. On the other hand, the kid had seen horrible things and it wouldn’t do to let him dwell on them.

Besides, Hiko was curious about the boy.

So…

“You know, kid, you can talk to me,” he said aloud, testing a theory. Thus far, the only times he had heard the kid speak had been in answer to prompting. Only silence was his answer, and he dared a covert glance.

The boy had settled down on his bedding, staring into the distance.

 _Head in the clouds, again – what’s with that?_ Dismayed, Hiko stoked the merrily crackling fire between them.

“What are you?” a soft voice asked.

_Huh?_

“What do you mean?” Hiko countered, intrigued.

“You feel cold and big,” the boy said while staring at the ground, picking at the grass.

Hiko felt his brow rise in surprise. _What the hell? What does that mean? Feel cold? Big?_

 _Hmmm, but maybe – no,_ that _wasn’t possible._ But then again, so far the kid had been constantly denying his assumptions and if it was so.... Curious, Hiko slowly let his ki flare up.

The boy immediately scrambled backwards.

There was no mistaking it the second time; the kid could feel ki.

A rare talent. Unprecedented, even. Usually only those who had been trained in the arts could feel ki. Even among them, it wasn’t a common ability. Hiko had known that the kid was special, after all Kenshin’s own spirit felt unusually well defined. However, he hadn’t realized how just special his new apprentice was.

_Oh yes, he will be perfect for Hiten Mitsurugi._

For the spiritually aware, Hiko’s presence would feel significantly different. He had spent years under the careful tutorage of the old bastard, mastering the use of the ki for his sword training. And like a muscle, using the spiritual energy would strengthen it, so it would feel “big” as the boy had put it. Coldness was just the feel of lingering death and willingness to hurt.

 _Back when the old bastard attacked me during the final training, it was like the air itself froze up._ Hiko frowned, and nodded slowly to himself. _Yes, with this… it’s starting to make sense._

_Hmmm, but if he can feel ki and possesses such a pronounced aura, does that mean he has already used it before?_

It might be, or not. In any case, it was something to consider in the future, but for now it was hardly a priority. “Calm down. I am not going to hurt you,” he said. “You can feel my spiritual presence. It’s what causes the feeling of coldness.”

The boy tilted his head, and then hesitantly crawled back.

“Spiritual… like a spirit?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Get it? You cannot get it anywhere. Everyone has some potential for it. You just need to learn to use it,” Hiko explained, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Of all the notions for the kid to pick up…

“…huh.”

Hiko shook his head, scoffed.

_Completely ridiculous._

Suddenly, he was acutely reminded exactly why he tended to avoid people. _Thank the gods the rice looks to be almost ready. A breakfast, then back to the road, and I don’t have to deal with anymore nonsense for the day._

 

* * *

 

 _So, the swordsman – Hiko-san is a man, not a spirit._ The boy had been wondering about that since the moment he had first seen him, but hadn’t been able to decide for sure. For him, Hiko-san had felt more like his spirit-friend than a man, although he still looked human.

The rest of Hiko-san’s explanation of spirits or spiritual presence had made no sense at all to the boy, and he hadn’t dared to question the man more. At first it had sounded like Hiko-san, too, had a spirit-friend. But when he had asked about it, Hiko-san had stared at the boy like he had grown a second head.

Asking another question after that reaction had been just too scary. Hiko-san didn’t seem like a person who had any patience for stupidity. And if asking about important things like spirits had raised his ire, what else would?

So the boy had stayed silent as they shared the meal like the night before. Hiko-san had given rice and the boy had shared the dried fish. It was only fair. Besides, until he knew the swordsman better, he wasn’t about to take anything without giving something in return. It was partly because mother had taught him to share his food, and Hiko-san didn’t seem to have much more than he did. But, also, it would be like he owed something to Hiko-san if he just took things.

And he really didn’t want that. The spirit-friend agreed.

So after breakfast, they had gathered their belongings and took to the road. Hiko-san had set the pace again and he had to almost run to keep up with it. While they travelled, the swordsman didn’t look back or question him further, which in turn left the boy to talk with his spirit-friend for company. He was getting better at walking and thinking at the same time.

It was almost a nice way to travel.

The two friends talked about a lot of things during those hours. Often the talk wasn’t about anything important, just observations about the things that the boy saw and was curious about. And while the spirit couldn’t talk back, the boy had grown better at understanding the images and emotions the spirit sent. It also seemed that the spirit was getting better at it, too. Or maybe they were just learning to understand each other better?

In any case, the boy was not alone and didn’t mind walking in silence.

Sometimes, though, the boy would talk to his friend about better times, of family and Kasumi, even the almost-older-sisters Akane and Sakura. And sometimes they would talk about Hiko-san. Neither of the two could make up their minds about him. On the other hand, Hiko-san had promised to teach them to use the sword, but then again, he hadn’t done anything about it during these travel filled days. Instead, he had just cleaned their wounds, shared food and stuff with them and asked a lot of questions during the meals.

The questions ranged from things like where the boy had lived, what his family had been like, what they had looked like, how long had he been with the slavers, what had that been like…  

And then Hiko-san had asked what the boy knew and could do.  

So, the boy had told Hiko-san that he didn’t know how to read or write. He had proudly mentioned he knew how to count to five. It was all he had needed before, and he remembered the lesson well; one number for each family member. When Hiko inquired about his age though, he couldn’t even guess. He hadn’t paid attention to years, well, not further than the one that had passed and one that was to come. Besides, Hiko-san’s description of ‘eras’ and ‘lunar calendar’ was, well, _complicated_. Back at home, the seasons were what mattered.  

Nevertheless, the boy had answered all the questions as well as he could, but Hiko-san was rarely happy with the answers. More often than not, he would get frustrated or even angry, and it was almost impossible to know what would set his temper off. At first, the boy was scared of these fits of temper. But only after a flare of spirit, some ugly expressions or swearwords muttered in a low voice, Hiko-san would always tell him to calm down and that he wouldn’t hit him.

Slowly, the boy was beginning to trust him, though the spirit-friend was still hesitant. However, they had realized fairly soon that while the swordsman would easily get angry, he was really good at controlling his bursts of anger and wasn’t a danger to them.

So…

The boy listened and watched.

The two friends weren’t sure if Hiko-san would keep them, so they learned how to do things by watching his example. Important things, like how to cook rice, to make a campfire, bandage hands and to clean the wounds, all things that the boy hadn’t known how to do before.

Thus, the days passed while travelling with a swordsman, who felt cold and was never happy.

 

* * *

 

The kid fell quite painlessly with Hiko’s way of living. Well, he had to stop more often than he was used to, but it was expected. Comparing to his previous doubts about taking an apprentice, that he would have to change to accommodate some spoiled brat, Kenshin was almost a blessing in disguise. In every way, the boy was an easy person to travel with; he didn’t talk unless he was prompted to, never complained or demanded anything.

While Hiko had some misgivings about whether he should encourage the boy to show more normal childish behavior, it didn’t seem to be necessary. In any case, a normal child would never be able to handle the training to come. Did it matter if Kenshin was slightly too obedient and silent?

The sword of Mitsurugi demanded a lot from the practitioners and those demands the kid already seemed to fulfill easily: a good mind, kind heart, strong will and able ki.

Speaking of the spiritual presence, now that Hiko was aware of it and paid attention, he noticed that the kid was constantly using his ki while they travelled. The spiritual aura would flow around the boy like water and occasionally it would flare. The dismaying part was that it all seemed to be connected to the boy’s ‘head in the clouds’ habit. For the moment, Hiko was willing to overlook the annoying tendency. Whatever the boy was doing, it seemed to be quite efficient training.

Travelling and eating healthily was steadily increasing the boy’s stamina and his mangled hands were healing without too many complications. Hiko had cleaned them every evening until the reddening near the edges had vanished and the scratches had scabbed. Two deeper wounds had developed puss, but piercing them and draining the slime twice had done the trick. All in all, the boy was gaining strength daily and Hiko was quite pleased with the physical fitness of his new apprentice.

What he didn’t like, however, was the boy’s lack of education. If he didn’t want to have an uneducated halfwit as an apprentice, it seemed that he would have to start teaching the kid the basics of reading and writing as soon as possible. And counting, he couldn’t ignore the numbers; the kid couldn’t even tell his own age properly!

Hmmph!

But then again, what else could he have expected from a mixed blood slave child?

He was becoming quite sure that the boy had some foreign blood, but was born and raised in Japan. As for his age, well, Hiko was leaning with his estimations towards the upper end of the ‘five to ten’-scale. It was mostly based on a hunch, the kid was too calm and unassuming and that unusual ki…

So, most likely he was nine or ten, but small for his age.

It was a good age for swords training and most children started around then. So had he, once upon a time.

The trust between them had been building up quite nicely, too. Now Hiko didn’t have to be so careful around the boy as it seemed that he wasn’t so scared anymore. True, the kid still kept a distance, didn’t initiate any action without a clear cue from him, but it was becoming obvious that he could soon start teaching the boy more.

However, the question was where to start.

Back when he had begun his apprenticeship, the swords training had been the obvious choice. Ki had come along years later _._ Even though Kenshin seemed to be aware of the spiritual energy, it really wasn’t a good aspect to start up with. No, it would be better to go with the training schedule he knew…

For swords training, he would need to get the boy a blade. A short one, though. Maybe a wakizashi could do?

 _Yes, that sounds doable,_ Hiko nodded, and glanced over his shoulder at the waif following him. _Hmm, real steel with a proper balance - yes. But heavy enough to build some muscle on those sticky arms…_

_Perhaps an older, second hand blade to save on the costs?_

And, now that winter was coming, he would need to get the kid more clothes. Those rags had worked well enough for now, but wouldn’t be warm enough for travelling in snow. Speaking of winter, he, too, would need supplies.

The money pouch hanging at his waist was noticeably light.

_Hmmm… it seems I need to find a job._

 

* * *

 

They were in a village.

The boy looked around curiously, but stayed close to Hiko-san. The village was a lot larger than home had been and it was bustling with people. Maybe it was because there were a lot of roads leading to it, compared to the only one leading to home. Come to think of it, home had been a lot higher in the mountains, too, so it would have been harder for all the people to get there.

When they had arrived, Hiko-san had said that this village was called Tokoyama and it was in the Suo domain. This, of course, didn’t mean anything to the boy and he stared at Hiko-san completely baffled. It roused a scoff from the swordsman, followed by gruff advice to pay attention to names, for knowing them would help him to know where he was and find his way back if needed.

It was a leading revelation to the boy. Thus far, names had only been important to tell apart two similar people from one another, like mother and second mother Kasumi. But it had to be the same for places, and if he knew the name of the place and asked for directions, the place would always be there.

He didn’t know what the village in the mountains had been named. It hurt for some reason. It wasn’t that he wanted to go back there, but… It would have been nice to know that he could, if he wanted to.

Needless to say, the boy started paying attention to the names.

The village center had a of lot different vendors and there were merchants and wagons on the roadside. Every now and then, Hiko-san would take time to talk to people. The more people he talked to, the colder he felt and the scowl on his face grew harsher. The boy suspected that it was because of all the noise and people. After all, he didn’t talk to the boy much either and needing to talk to so many people had to be a real struggle.

However, seeing that scowl, it was relieving in a way. It meant that it wasn’t just the boy the swordsman didn’t like; no, it was just the way he was.

Just like the spirit-friend.

Hiko-san had said that they needed to find a job, and that the village would be a good place to find one. Knowing that before coming to the village had been comforting, because it meant that the swordsman wasn’t trying to get rid of him or to sell him.

The boy didn’t want to be alone and travelling with Hiko-san hadn’t been bad.

But what if Hiko-san had just said those words but hadn’t really meant them?

The boy couldn’t follow the conversations between the swordsman and the strangers well, but he kept an ear out for bad words. If anything was said about selling people or the odd words Ine-sama had used while haggling with the scary man Hideo, he resolved to run away. He wouldn’t be sold again, no matter what. He knew enough now to survive alone, if necessary.

Then Hiko-san stopped to buy rice from an old woman. It was odd to watch that, because for some crazy reason the swordsman _didn’t_ haggle, just paid the first price she asked. It was, well - stupid. But Hiko-san didn’t seem like a stupid man, so why would he..?

Every time the boy had seen mother or father, or even old Ine-sama, buy anything, there had been a lot of haggling.

Father had explained that it was a game between the seller and the buyer. The seller would ask for too much and the buyer would offer too little. Then they would play a game over the price, and the winner would be the one who stayed closer to the price he started with and got the other to agree. It had sounded like a really fun game to the boy, and he had liked to watch father play it.

Father had been good at it.

Hiko-san didn’t even try to play.

 _It can’t be that Hiko-san has too much money. No, if that was so, he wouldn’t be trying to find a job. So why doesn’t he play?_ the boy wondered. He would have to ask about it later. For now, Hiko-san’s coldness, or ki as the older man called it, was spiking up in annoyed flickers.

It wasn’t as scary as it had been before because lately the boy had been getting better at following the feeling of coldness, and figuring out what it meant. Right now Hiko-san was definitely nearing the boiling point of his temper. Soon there would be swearing…

“Damn it all to hell. How hard can it be to find a merchant travelling out of town? It’s not even snowfall yet!”

And the coldness just fizzled. _Huh? That was it?_

“What if you don’t find a job?” the boy hesitantly asked. Normally he wouldn’t have dared. Not yet, especially when Hiko-san’s ki had felt so angry just moments ago, but if the swordsman couldn’t find a job, what would he do for the money? He didn’t have much to sell...

“Hmmph. Then we need to keep trying, maybe in another village.”

The boy relaxed minutely, somewhat comforted and nodded to the swordsman.

However, mere moments later, he saw people turning to the western road. Back home, when people behaved so, it had meant that someone new was coming in. Hiko-san didn’t seem to notice it as he was preoccupied with a vendor behind them.

It was distressing. He knew that Hiko-san needed money, but no merchant seemed to want to pay for his help. What should he do?

Finally, the sheer necessity driving him, the boy coughed.

The swordsman didn’t seem to hear him.

 _But what if someone else needs a job, too, and gets there first?_ _Hiko-san needs money!_ So, the boy did something he would have never done before and dared to tug at the swordsman’s cloak.

The swordsman raised his brow, curious – not angry. The boy exhaled in sheer relief and pointed west. “Someone is coming.”

Hiko-san looked and frowned.

“Huh. Well, let’s check it out.”

 

* * *

 

Old man Asano was a merchant and Hiko-san and the boy were travelling with him for now. The swordsman had a job of protecting the merchant, old man Asano drove the wagon pulled by a big ox, and the boy, well, didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

So, he just followed Hiko-san just like before. 

Apparently, the old man Asano had been left behind by a bigger merchant caravan earlier, because his wheel had broken down badly and he couldn’t fix it fast enough. It was a mean thing to do, leaving someone behind and even worse for such a small reason, the boy thought, but said nothing. 

In any case, the merchant was in hurry to sell his stuff in Hiroshima, in Aki domain, before the snowfall came, or so he had told Hiko-san. Old man Asano hadn’t been happy to hire him at first, and had loudly protested that a single swordsman as protection was as good as an invitation to the bandits. So the merchant had suggested that he would take a message to another village and bring back more guards. Hiko-san’s coldness had been boiling so badly that the boy had wanted to run and hide rather than follow the argument, but finally the swordsman had calmed down and managed to convince the merchant to hire him. Old man Asano had taken a really long time to agree, and even then it was ‘only because of the hurry.’

So here they were.

Travelling was easier now with old man Asano and his wagon slowing the pace, but it wasn’t nice. Just like the villagers back home, the merchant didn’t like him at all. Instead, he would stare at the boy but never talk _to_ him.

Already the boy had heard Asano say “demon” and “foreigner” to Hiko-san. He really didn’t like those words.

They had been travelling for two days now and both nights at the camp fire old man Asano had sat next to Hiko-san and started talking. Instead of being allowed to listen in and eat in peace, the merchant ordered the boy do chores.

It wasn’t that he minded doing the chores, not really. It was easy enough to fetch water or pick up firewood and he wasn’t lazy. No, he had been taught better. But he didn’t like the way Asano did it. The merchant would command harshly, never once looking at him and always expecting the boy to obey immediately. In all honesty, it reminded him of scary man Hideo.

Hiko-san didn’t seem to think it odd, so the boy did as he was told.

But for some reason, he felt lonelier than he had been since the graveyard. He had tried to spend time with his spirit-friend during the day’s travelling, but hadn’t noticed when Asano had suddenly slowed the pace and as a result the boy had stumbled right into the wagon. “Is there something wrong with the kid?” old man Asano had asked Hiko-san with an ugly voice, and the boy could hear the unspoken ‘stupid runt’ clearly. The swordsman had scoffed, but hadn’t answered.

Feeling ashamed, the boy hadn’t dared to try talking with the spirit-friend since. After all, only a simpleton would walk into things, and Hiko-san wouldn’t want a stupid student.

So, with no one to talk to and no one talking to him, he was feeling lonely with people again. 

Another thing that was making him feel really bad was the dreams. These past few days travelling with Hiko-san just curling up on a bedroll was enough to fall asleep. But now with the slow travelling pace, he just wasn’t tired enough at the end of the day, and so he would remember bad things and continue seeing them in his sleep. He would often wake up in the middle of the night panting and tears stinging in his eyes, feeling really, really scared. He would see Kasumi’s dark pleading eyes, her soft mouth that had been like mother’s and a sword tearing though her throat.

He kept clutching her top in his hands, in hopes that it would keep the bad dreams away.

It didn’t work very well.

During the fourth day of travel they reached a domain border post. The boy had seen a couple of those when he was with the slave caravan, but for some reason, passing it felt scarier now with only Hiko-san and the mean old merchant with him. The samurai, who was guarding the border post, asked old man Asano and Hiko-san questions, but the way he talked was so odd that it was really hard to understand him. It was even worse than the way Hiko-san talked, with all the difficult words and weird way of saying even the normal things…

So, it was no wonder that the meaning of words escaped the boy and he drifted off, only to catch the tail end of Hiko-san’s speech. “…I am a ronin, and here are our travel passes. The boy, Kenshin, is with me.”

_Kenshin? Who is that? My name is—_

_‘…too soft, from now on you will be...’_

He had almost forgotten that Hiko-san had given him a new name. It wasn’t like anyone actually used it. To Hiko-san, he was always just “boy.” And it wasn’t like anyone else would talk to him, like at the crossroad village, Tokoyama; the vendors and other people had talked about him like he was not there. Even worse, some of them had been like old mean man Asano and called him bad names.

The boy didn’t know what to think of names, really. It made sense that places had names so that people could find them, like Hiko-san had told him. But what was the point of giving names to children? Even before, when he had been Shinta, no one had called him that. Well, no one but mother that is. To his brothers, he had been “crybaby” or “tiny.” Father had called him “son” or every now and then when he was displeased “boy”, but even then he had said it gently.

Not that he could recall any particular time it had happened, it was all hazy for some reason. But it had been so, of that he was absolutely sure. The boy frowned. _Why can’t I remember it anymore?_

In any case, even to Kasumi he had been “Shinta-chan.”

_Huh… perhaps, names are what only mother’s will call you by?_

No, that wasn’t right.

Hiko-san was Hiko-san, and old Ine-sama had been also called by her name. Like old man Asano and scary man Hideo. _So, it’s an adult thing? If you are an adult, you can tell what your name is to people and they will respect it – not make up their own mind?_

Abruptly, the boy was pulled from his thoughts by a loud noise from the forest. Immediately alert and shaking slightly, he was ready to dash off _–_

_Oh, no. Not again._

There was a pile of logs laid down on the road and a bandit was standing in front of the blockade, his sword half raised and his teeth bared in an ugly grin.

The grin faded slightly when Hiko-san stepped forward and pulled his long sword out of the scabbard, too, speaking calmly. “Let us through, or be prepared to meet your gods.”

The bandit’s mouth fell slack for a minute, and then a terrifying loud guffawing laugh filled the silence.

It continued on and on.

Hiko-san’s coldness flickered in annoyance, but the swordsman in white didn’t do anything, just waited.

Then, finally the bandit fell silent, wiped his eyes and stated, “Thanks for the laugh. But, joker – we do have you outnumbered. So who the hell do you think you are to demand anything from us?”

“Your death.”

“Oh really?” the bandit scowled. “I’ll enjoy carving the mark of hopelessness into your severed head and watch the beasts tear your corpse into pieces. Men, let’s show this arrogant sod what he is dealing with!”

More bandits stepped out of the forest on both sides of the road. There were too many for the boy to count, at least as many as had attacked the slave caravan. Old man Asano was white with terror and shaking on the driver’s seat, even the big ox pulling the wagon seemed scared.

 _I have nowhere to go, there are too many of them… what to do, whattodo_ –

Suddenly, he noted that the underside of the wagon was dark, the afternoon sun cast deep shadows. Maybe they hadn’t noticed him yet?

Hopeless or not, but it was the only thing he could do. And so, silent as a mouse,the boy crawled under the wagon. Out there, the bandits were circling Hiko-san, grinning like it was the best game ever.

Then Hiko-san took a step forward and the standstill broke.

The bandits attacked him.

_Oh no… not Hiko-san, too!_

The boy hadn’t really wanted to think about what had happened earlier at the slave caravan massacre. He had wanted to forget it, really.For him, seeing blood wasn’t all that scary. It was just like red water.But then he saw the bandit who had mocked Hiko-san fall in pieces,just like the one on the moonlight clearing of the massacre night.

And suddenly, the smell of blood rushed over him –

S _creaming slave girls, desperate escape from the bandits that surrounded the caravan. / Screaming, shouting, panting. / Trying to run with Kasumi, scary men following them. / Akane falling down with twisted leg and Sakura stopping to help. / The almost-older-sisters trying to protect him… the scary man lifting Kasumi by her hair… Kasumi pleading him to live… live. Shinta._

_Live. Shinta._

_Live._

_Live. For her. Live._

KENSHIN!!!

Hiko-san was shaking him by the shoulders, shouting something. His dark eyes were narrowed and the white cloak had blood staining it.

It was silent.

They were in the middle of the road.

There was the wagon and the ox…. and old man Asano, frowning…

“Put the boy on to the back,” Asano growled. “We need to move out.”

And Hiko-san lifted him like a shaky broken toy and laid him down at the back of the wagon.

“Stay here and try to breathe, boy. It was just a memory.”

And then the wagon started moving and the boy curled on his side, searched for his top. Finding it, he breathed in deep and clutched it tight in his hands.  

“A memory..?”

 

* * *

 

When the boy woke up it was dark and his head was hurting really bad, like something was constantly hitting his forehead right behind his eyes. Taking his time to open his eyes, he noticed that Kasumi’s top was still in his hands. Feeling it gave him a sense of reality. He knew now where he was; in the back of the merchant wagon on his way to Hiroshima. He wasn’t alone, no. He was travelling with Hiko-san, who had promised to teach him sword fighting.

They were protecting old and mean Asano-san.

The pounding hurt in his head was growing fainter, but he didn’t feel like sitting up. It was warm here. Oh, there was a blanket thrown over him.  

It really wasn’t all that bad, so the boy just snuggled closer into the blanket and laid there in the dark. Slowly, he began to hear voices, old man Asano and Hiko-san talking like they had been every night. He could almost hear what they said. Hurting like this, he didn’t feel like moving, but his curiosity was rising. Straining his ears, he tried to focus more... No. No clear words that he could recognize, just a steady mumble.

_What would Hiko-san talk about?_

Adults spoke differently to each other, he knew. Maybe Hiko-san would speak of the things the boy wanted to know, too? Like about swords and using them? The few times he had talked with Hiko-san had been mostly about himself and that wasn’t interesting at all.

_…And I know so little about him still._

Now was the first time the boy had a chance to listen in to Hiko-san talking to someone.

He really wanted to. The other night when there had been an opportunity for it, old man Asano had sent him away to do chores. Now, though, there was a perfect chance and the boy couldn’t make out any specific words. Dismayed, he asked the spirit-friend if it knew how they could listen in better.

It sent back a confusing bundle of feelings. Helping. Asking. Willingness to help. Him?

‘You want to help me, but can’t?’ The boy frowned.

Cold feel – no. Wanting to help. Asking. Agreeing. Giving permission..?

‘I need to let you help me?’

Petting agreement.

How could he do that? Besides, what was stopping the spirit from helping if it wanted? Perhaps… yes, it made sense; the only time the spirit had been able to talk had been when the boy had first talked to it. So now there had to be something stopping it.  

Pausing, he tried to feel the spirit and now that he was looking for it, he noticed it.

_Huh? There is something between us._

_A wall?_

_How can I remove it?_

The boy tried to push it, but it wouldn’t move. It seemed to be really sturdy.

But did he have to remove the whole thing? It should be easier to just make a hole and he was good at digging. So, again, he felt the wall between them and now felt odd ridges. It was like the wall was built from layers and layers of things piled on top of each other. He didn’t know what the things were, but did try to pick at one. 

_The warmth of mother hugging him really tightly._

The boy let go in surprise. What..?

Tried again.

And the same feeling flooded over him. It felt so good, almost like he was back at home before the sickness. Stunned, he lifted it and moved it to the side, next to the spot where he was digging a whole. Then, gingerly, he touched the second thing and felt: _father smiling at me in approval, when I showed him the bucket full of weeds that I picked from the garden._

The boy could almost cry. He had no words of how much he had missed these feelings, the feeling of belonging to a family, of people liking him, smiling at him. Of people actually looking and seeing him.

Should he touch these things? What were they? Why were they there?

Maybe they were supposed to be there?

The boy turned to lie on his back. It was so dark, probably close to midnight. Thoughtfully, he touched the top in his hands and fiddled with it. _Why were those things separating the spirit-friend from me? And why do they hold good memories in them?_

He really wanted to feel those feelings locked in the things that made the wall. Just a simple touch and for a moment he hadn’t felt so bad and alone. But then again, if he could dig a hole in the wall, maybe the spirit-friend could speak to him better?

Maybe it could even talk to him while they were travelling again?

These last days, he had been so lonely… and that scary memory thing, whatever it had been. He had been so scared. He hadn’t even known that memories could be like that. How had it happened? What caused it? Would it happen again? Hopefully not, it had been horrible.He desperately wanted to talk about it with someone.

The murmuring of men’s talk continued in the background. Probably it would be okay if he would go and ask Hiko-san about those memories. After all, the swordsman quite often answered the questions he asked, and he _had known_ that the boy had seen memories. So, Hiko-san would be a good person to ask.

But old mean Asano was there, too, and he didn’t like the boy at all.

Suddenly, going to talk to the men lost all its appeal.

It was warm and nice here, and he had his blanket and his top. In any case, the spirit-friend had been with him the longest, had helped him the most. It was always there, ready and willing to help.

Thinking about it like that, it really wasn’t any decision at all.

So, the boy started digging a hole in the wall between him and the spirit. Touching the things the wall was built of was nice, for they were always warm and comforting. Just for those he would have done this. And knowing that it would help the spirit-friend?

It made it even better.

But no matter his enthusiasm, the work was slow going and for some reason, experiencing the nice good feelings and memories holed in the wall were making him tired. The further he dug, the harder it became to lift and pile the things. But then it was finally done, and the boy stepped back, allowing the spirit-friend’s coldness to flow in a trickle through the hole.

He was rewarded by the petting comfort feeling and it was stronger than ever before.

‘Good boy.’

The boy smiled, delighted and thought to the spirit, ‘You can talk again!’

‘Yes.’

Satisfaction flooding over him, the boy smiled. ‘Good.’

For the longest time, he had wished to talk to the spirit properly again, but he hadn’t known how. But now it was clear that it had been because of the wall between them.

 _Huh. I really need to do something about it then,_ he thought sleepily and yawned deeply. _But later… when I am not this tired._

Suddenly, heavy steps crunched on sand.

_What..?_

_I know those steps, but_ – _Oh._ The murmuring sounds of the men’s conversation had stopped, and he hadn’t even noticed!

A tall familiar shape came out of the darkness.

“Are you alright, boy?”

He nodded warily and rubbed his eyes clear. It didn’t help much with his tiredness, but this was important. “What happened? I saw the bandit on the road die.”

Hiko-san nodded grimly. “I killed a few, but the rest ran away like the vermin they are, losing their courage.” The disdainful scoff followed and told him loud and clear what Hiko-san thought of cowards. “You were screaming pretty loudly. What did you remember?”

Briefly, the boy wondered what he should tell. Not his feelings towards his almost-a-family, it was his pain.  But, the rest, well, it wasn’t like Hiko-san hadn’t seen it. “That night, and Kasumi-san dying.”

“Hmmm.” Hiko-san looked away, rubbed his chin like he was thinking.

“It will probably happen again.”

“Why?”

“When you see things that affect you strongly, your mind may bring those moments back and force you to relive them. It may happen anytime, but it’s more likely when events of similar nature occur. It’s not very pleasant, but not something to be discouraged over, either. It happens; you face it and grow stronger because of it.” The swordsman’s voice sounded almost kind. “Use it to remind yourself of why you must get stronger, and what you want to protect.”

It was just like Hiko-san to use all those difficult words that the boy didn’t understand, especially on a topic that actually mattered a lot. He almost wanted to ask more, but Hiko-san looked somewhat odd and his ki–   

 _It doesn’t feel cold at all?_ The boy’smouth fell slightly open in amazement and he stared at the swordsman… and slowly nodded. This was the first time he had ever felt Hiko to feel nearly _warm_. He didn’t want to ruin it with any questions that would surely only to annoy the swordsman.

Then Hiko-san patted his shoulder and it felt so very good. In that brief touch there was pride, acceptance, comfort, even caring. Perhaps it meant that Hiko-san didn’t think badly of him..?

“Get some more sleep, Kenshin. We will head out early tomorrow.”

This time the boy couldn’t help the smile that rose to his lips. And watching the swordsman leave, he didn’t feel so bad and alone anymore. How could he? The spirit-friend could talk now. Hiko-san didn’t feel so cold. And most important of it all, he had called the boy _by his name._

Everything would be okay.

The top in hand, he snuggled deeper into his blanket and slept.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 28.5.2015 by BelovedStranger


	7. There can be only one

# Chapter 6. There can be only one

 

The next day was almost perfect for traveling; the sun was warm and the road was all the way downhill. It was really easy to walk like that, almost like they were running. What made it even better was that old man Asano was busy driving the wagon and Hiko-san walked ahead, leaving the boy alone to walk next to the wagon and practice his new way of talking with his spirit-friend.

It didn’t take him long to realize that whatever the things the wall had been built of had been digging a hole had been a great idea. Talking with the spirit like this was almost like talking with a normal person. No longer did he have to keep figuring out what the spirit-friend was trying to say with the emotions, pictures and memories. 

No, now it could explain things to him instead.

Not that the spirit understood things any better than him, but now the two of them could learn and compare their views. Their discussions, for instance, had made it clear that the spirit-friend found the living memory thing that had attacked the boy yesterday a really bad thing.

The boy hadn’t liked it either, but they  _both_  had agreed that it was a good reminder of why they needed to get stronger. Neither of them wanted to be helpless anymore and if anything, yesterday — when they had been hiding under the carriage, shutting their eyes and hoping for the best — they had been useless to everyone.

Another thing they had in common was that the spirit didn’t like the old man Asano, either. But its dislike went deeper and it wanted to do mean things to the old merchant to pay back for all the nasty looks, words and bossy commands, for treating them like they were still a slave. And while the boy agreed it would be pretty funny to see the old man Asano curse nettles and burs in his underclothes or to have him fish out mud from his socks, he wasn’t sure they should do that.

He didn’t want to be a bad boy. 

And now that Hiko-san had finally called him by his name, talked to him like he would speak to another person worth respecting, he really couldn’t do anything to disappoint the swordsman.  _Besides, if I am good enough,_   _maybe Hiko-san will notice it and begin teaching us how to use the sword already?_

The spirit, on the other hand, was of the opinion that he should ask the older man about the lessons, demand him to start teaching the two of them.

 _But it would be rude to question the way Hiko-san does things…_   _And maybe he has a reason for not teaching us yet?_

 

* * *

 

When they stopped for the night and made camp, old man Asano put the boy to fetching things again. Somehow though, it was even more annoying now as it seemed like the merchant wanted to convince Hiko-san of something. The boy frowned, noting the intent look of the merchant’s eyes and the swordsman’s oddly cautious ki.

Yes, they would talk about the important things tonight.

Hiko-san’s coldness felt almost like it had been before the living memory when he had faced those bandits and listened their mocking. Itwas almost like it was telling them, _‘State me your piece and I will make my decision by it’_.

However, the merchant’s behavior worried the boy more. Even the spirit-friend thought his manner odd, definitely something they should pay attention to. But the way old man Asano ordered them to do chores, kept them out of the way…

It seemed like a different approach would be needed.

So after the evening meal, instead of trying to join the older men’s company by the fire, the boy took his blanket and made his bed next to the wagon, quite a distance away from them. Their murmur was barely audible, and he couldn’t recognize any words, but it still should be close enough for what spirit-friend had suggested last night.

The boy laid on his back, clutching Kasumi’s top tightly in his hands to calm his nerves, and then got down to business with the spirit. ‘How can we hear better?’

‘What the boy hears with?’ a hesitant, faint whisper asked.

‘The ears,’ he answered, feeling a bit confused. Didn’t everyone know this? But then again, the spirit had lived in a rock before…

‘What does one feel like to the boy?’

‘Cold.’

That was the best way he had of describing the slippery flow of the spirit living inside him, but still he was at loss as to why his friend wanted to know this now of all times. But then the spirit reached out to poke at one of his memories:  _the feeling of coldness flowing from the ugly stone to the boy, trickling through his hand like a stream of water_ –

His eyes widening in surprise, he could only gasp as realization stuck. ‘Oh! You mean I can push your coldness to my ears like that? And it will help us hear better?’  

The petting comfort feeling.

 _That would be so great! Imagine the things I could learn like that._  The boy grinned in enthusiasm.If this worked, old man Asano couldn’t stop him from hearing important things ever again! And more importantly, he and spirit could learn more of Hiko-san, to understand him better and make sure they could actually trust him…

_Yes, I definitely need to learn this trick!_

These thoughts in mind, the boy searched for the feeling of coldness inside him again. He still couldn’t touch the spirit’s coldness on the other side of the wall, but whatever had streamed through the hole in the wall to his side should be fair game. It took no time at all to find the odd sensation in the form of a small floating droplet and he reached to touch it –

_…Huh, it’s almost like touching water._

_But how should I move it?_ The boy frowned in concentration, and tried to push it. However, the droplet just gave way and flowed around his touch. A couple tries later, he realized he might have a problem. No matter from which direction he pushed, how little force he used, the coldness would break and flow around him like water before reforming back to a single drop.

 _But wait_ – _water! The coldness does look like water, and it feels like water, so maybe…_

Back when he had had his family, he and his brothers had loved playing with water. During those summer days after harsh rains, the three of them had spent hours and hours drawing small ditches in the mud to guide the water downhill. It had been really interesting to see the water flowing quickly, gathering into large puddles and going where they directed it.

_Oh, but that’s it!_

The petting agreement.

He couldn’t draw ditches inside himself nor were his ears located downhill. But the coldness was not water and it didn’t necessarily  _need_  to move downhill. No, because no matter how much force he had used, the droplet always became one. So if he led the coldness little by little…

_Yes, it does follow me._

It took some trying, but after a while the boy learned to guide the coldness towards his ears. And finally it was near there, and he led just a trickle of coldness in…

 _AH! Every sound is so loud!_   _It hurts!_

The crackling of the fire was like thunderstorm in his ears, and old man Asano’s voice boomed like giants.  **“…didn’t know that you were the famous White Death –”**

The clattering buzz of cicadas was like a banging iron pot around his head, the hoot of an owl seemed closer to a demon’s shriek from fairytales. The boy shielded his ears with his hands, but of course it didn’t help at all.

It hurt so badly! Everything was so loud, too loud to bear!

**“…I am hardly a person of importance. No, nothing more than a wanderer…”**

The spirit sent him a distressed feeling, but somehow it made everything feel even _worse!_ Like the simple emotion put more coldness into his ears!

The fire crackled, and the crunch of someone’s feet on gravel felt like it gnawed on the last of his endurance.

 **_“_ ** **…the foreigners are not good for…”**

A small cry escaped the boy’s lips, and he whimpered, trying desperately to keep breathing, to control the pain. He needed to guide the coldness away. Now!

The buzzing and crackling worsened, and tears stinging in his easy, he gasped for breath.

**“…Hiten Mitsurugi style is a…”**

The droplet gathering in his ears was slippery and kept escaping his frantic touches, but the pain was growing worse and he needed to draw it away!  _Away, right now, I gotta get it away…_

_Yes, it’s almost there!_

The moment the coldness left his ears, it was like someone had wrapped him inside muffling blankets and the overwhelming noises stopped immediately. His eyes wild with shock, he panted harshly as if he had been running for his life.

But slowly, as the pain turned into an ache and the muffling cocoon eased off to a sense of normalcy, a triumphant smile tugged at the corners of his lips.  _It worked! It really did work just like the spirit said!_

_Now, let’s do it again!_

The spirit sent a feeling of hesitation, of worry.  

 _I got it to work and we did hear better!_ he insisted with a shake of his head. He smirked proudly. ‘It doesn’t matter that it hurt. No, I will do it better this time!’

A feeling of giving up, a fond warmth and then, finally, the petting comfort feeling.

 

* * *

 

The air smelt slightly of salt.

It was weird and it kept reminding the boy of something, like a distant memory tingling just out of reach, one that he really should remember. He didn’t have any idea why it felt familiar, and after a while he tried to focus on other things. Now that they had reached the lowlands, the road had evened out and all around them the wind kept shaking the treetops. Worse, however, was that the dampness in the air made every gust feel like it was already winter even though it wasn’t, not yet.

The road was wide and flat, and it was really easy to walk on it – and they weren’t the only people traveling, either. Every now and then they would see passersby, men travelling alone, families traveling together and other merchant wagons pulled by horses or oxen.

Last night the boy had stayed up late to practice hearing better with the coldness. It was really tricky to get the trickle of slippery droplet to be small enough to be useful because he had come to notice that hearing too well made it just as impossible to make out words properly, just like as hearing badly did.

He had tried to continue practicing while walking, but it seemed to be even more complicated than talking with his friend with memories and feelings had been. And after he had stumbled in inattention, old man Asano had looked at him like he was something really nasty and smelly.

The boy hadn’t continued trying after that.

However, looking at the people travelling the road and commenting on them with his friend became a new game to pass the time. Off course, the spirit still didn’t like people, but it was willing to try to figure out things with him.

So the boy watched the people and showed the spirit the things he found interesting, like the man wearing a funny hat. He didn’t know what it was made of, some reed like stuff, he guessed. But even though it looked weird, it would probably keep the sun out of his eyes and rain away from his hair. So after a moment’s consideration, he decided that it would be a really nice hat to wear.

The spirit thought they should try to take it.

He disagreed, just as he had learned to do early on. The spirit usually had stupid ideas and it wanted to do a lot of things that the bad boys did. And no matter how he had tried to teach it to be better, every now and then the spirit would still suggest these weird thoughts to him.

Then he noticed a family was walking past them. There was a father, mother… and son. And a bundle strapped to the mother’s back, so a small one there, too. But somehow, seeing them travelling together, just like his own family could have before everything had gone wrong, it hurt.

The boy looked aside, trying to ignore the painful reminder. Inhaling softly, he raised his gaze to look ahead at the wide back of Hiko-san walking ahead of them.

_No, I’m not alone anymore._

_And even if it hurts now… maybe sometime in the future, it won’t hurt at all?_

The spirit sent him the petting comfort feeling.

‘Thanks,’ he acknowledged his friend’s effort. And strangely, just the knowledge that someone cared made him feel better.

Another merchant wagon passed them, this one pulled by a horse. He hadn’t seen many of them and instantly he perked up in curiosity. The horse was very big, its dark long hair was slightly curly and brown coat looked fuzzy. In particular, its white marked nose seemed soft, just begging to be petted.

The boy smiled wishfully, admiring the animal from a distance. However, all of sudden he noted the man walking beside it with two swords on his hip.

_A samurai guard?_

The man’s hair was pulled up and he seemed really serious.  _Maybe he is like Hiko-san and he is keeping an eye out for the bandits?_

However, his curious ponderings came to a jerking halt when the man noted him in turn and paused to stare. The samurai’s dark eyes narrowed, and he covered the hilt of his sword with his hand… but after a moment, he let go and grimaced in distaste, spitting on the ground and grumbled harshly, “Foreigner scum.”

All the tiny hairs at the back of the boy’s neck were standing up and the shivers of fear surged through his spine as he slipped away, circling to the old man Asano’s wagon from behind to walk on the other side. But when he finally managed to calm his racing heart a bit, he frowned and asked his spirit-friend, ‘What’s with that foreigner thing?’

‘Don’t know,’ it thought to him, and added a feeling of confusion.

‘And that spitting…’ The boy felt quite insulted, really.  

‘Rude,’ the spirit agreed, and send him an image of tripping someone in the mud.

‘Oh, I wish…’ He smiled and countered the suggestion with a memory of how he had slipped a frog into second eldest brother’s bedroll.

The spirit sent him a warm feeling, one that felt a bit like a smile and sent pictures of one prank after another and the boy really couldn’t help laughing.  

Soon, they were eagerly exchanging ideas of what to do to the rude samurai.  

All of their suggestions were quite mean, but the little pranks wouldn’t hurt anyone, not badly at least. And more importantly, it was really nice to play like this with the spirit. 

_It’s almost like making up pranks with my older brothers. They, too, would have liked some of these trickier plans._

 

* * *

 

Old man Asano and Hiko-san decided to stop again when the sun was setting. The old merchant led the ox to eat the grass from the roadside and the boy was given the task of fetching water for the rice. Hiko-san made the fire and cooked dinner with a pointed scowl on his face, while old man Asano settled to enjoy the warmth of the fire.  

And like yesterday night, the boy left again to his bed roll straight after the meal – he was on a mission.

Like usual, the men didn’t care what he did, but started their conversation in the background.

So after he settled into a good position on his bedroll, the boy started to lead the coldness to his ears again. To prevent yesterday’s mishaps from using too much, he had thought of an idea while traveling. What if he led the coldness to pool just at the edge of his ears, and then guided just a little bit inside to enhance his hearing?

Frowning in concentration, he carefully separated just a tiny drop and then…

The wind rustled in the treetops, the fire crackled loudly and suddenly old man Asano’s voice boomed, alike he was shouting. “I cannot help but to tell you again, Seijuuro-san, how impressed I was with that Hiten-thing you performed to destroy the road blockade. A pile of solid tree trunks, and with one move all were blown into shingles.”

The boy grinned in exhilaration.  _Yes, this is exactly what I wanted to hear!_

“It was Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu: Doryusen. Yes, it is an impressive attack.”

 _Huh, that’s Hiko-san, but why does he sound bored?_ The boy frowned in thought. The swordsman’s deep voice had an edge of annoyance to it, not exactly like he was about to lose his temper, but…

“So it is! And that foreigners’ child you have… you say he is to be your student? Are you…”

And suddenly the muffling silence was back, and he nearly yelped in surprise. No! The coldness had run out too soon! And just when they were about to talk about him, too!

_No!_

So it didn’t matter that the trick with the coldness had left his ears feeling sensitive, like hands scrubbed raw with sand. No, because he had to hear this!

_Quickly!_

And he drew another drop of coldness to his ears.

“…I thought at first that the boy was your servant. A new one, or… forgive me, but those rags, bad manners and his unruly behavior…”

“I know what you thought. The boy is a new to me, yes.”

“But surely a fine sword master like you should have a better student? Perhaps someone taller, stronger… a proper Japanese boy? I happen to have a fourth son of suitable age…”

The silence that muffled the voices hit him again, and the boy panted frantically, his eyes wild with panic.   _Old man Asano has a son he wants Hiko-san to train, too?_

_What if Hiko-san would rather have Asano’s son? Maybe the reason why he hasn’t yet started training me is because he isn’t happy with me? Maybe he is already thinking of taking an apprentice that is taller and stronger?_

_No! No, no, this can’t be happening!_ The boy shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself in a desperate imitation of a hug. The spirit sent him the petting comfort feeling, but it didn’t help him to calm down at all.  _No, this is too horrible!_

_We will get to Hiroshima in just a few days, and Hiko-san needs money! What if he decides to sell me and take Asano’s son as his student instead?_

_No, Hiko-san wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t!_ the boy tried to tell himself, forcing himself to remember how the swordsman had accepted him, called him by his name, healed his hands – how he had even felt warm just a few days ago!

 _It simply can’t be true! It can’t!_ The boy shook his head, as if to keep away from the horrible thoughts. It didn’t help, nothing could. So even though his ears were already aching from using coldness so much, so fast, he dragged the slippery coldness to his ears.

“…Hiten Mitsurugi style is a demanding style and only a few are even suitable candidates to practice it. What’s more, the tradition and practicalities demand that it is only passed from Master to one student in the generation. The line has continued unbroken since the era of civil wars and I have no intention of breaking it.”

“My son Hideyoshi is a dedicated student, a smart lad, truly. Reads and writes beautifully. He is polite, too, has impeccable manners and he knows his place – you wouldn’t have to deal with any back talk. Choosing him as your apprentice wouldn’t bring any disrespect to your honorable sword style’s great legacy.”

“The sword of Mitsurugi is too powerful to teach to just anyone.”

The silence was like shutting him inside a muffled box and throwing away the key. There was something lodging in his throat and it was difficult to breathe. His ears ached badly, but it didn’t matter. No, because his heart was racing like a rabbit’s and he felt like he was dying.

Old man Asano’s boy was that good? He knew his manners, knew how to read and write and on top of that he was even smart?

_…How can I compete against that?_

No one had ever praised him for being smart, not even his own family. And he didn’t know any of the other things Asano-san had listed either! Why had Hiko-san decided to keep him? It didn’t make any sense! Just what did Hiko-san want from his student?

Without even pausing to hesitate, he led the rest of the coldness to his ears.

“…I am willing to compensate you for teaching my Hideyoshi your craft. How about twenty Koku for every year of teaching? It would be a handsome pay truly – worth a true master of the craft.”

“I think…”

Suddenly a sharp pain stabbed his ears and the boy cried out in panicked distress. There was something wet flowing down to his neck and he pressed his hands to his ears in desperate attempt to ease the pain and curled to his side.

It didn’t work at all!

The pain kept stabbing him repeatedly, like someone was shoving chopsticks in his ears. Oh god, how it hurt! The boy cried out softly and curled up tightly, trying to keep breathing and ride out the waves of pain.

It took an eternity, but somehow the stabbing pain lessened and lessened, until it was almost bearable. His arms shaking, he pushed himself to sit up weakly and finally realized that there was something sticky on his hands. Holding out a hand, he sniffed at it… and then licked the odd wetness.

It was blood.

 _Huh. How can ears bleed? I have never seen anyone bleeding from their ears…_ Dazedly, he pressed the fabric of his wide sleeves to his ears and mopped away the blood. The trickle had nearly stopped, but his ears ached terribly. And now that his heart wasn’t trying to jump out of his chest anymore in frenzied panic, he felt really, really tired.

It was difficult to keep his eyes open, and he yawned widely. Every movement hurt, but it didn’t matter because he was too tired to think, to do anything, so he curled up on his side, felt the top hidden inside the pocked of his sleeves and then he knew no more.

 

* * *

 

It was perhaps no surprise that the boy woke up screaming. The memory of Ine-sama selling him had been so clear in the dream, just like it had happened right before his eyes and he sat up, panting heavily, feeling all slimy and wet.

Trying to calm down his racing heart, he glanced down and lifted the corner of his blanket, only to see wetness. Oh god, he had wet the bed! His eyes wide in shock and his shoulder shaking, he took a hiccupping inhale.

_No, no, this can’t be happening. Not now!_

He didn’t have other clothes, no other blanket. Hiko-san was already planning to get rid of him and old man Asano hated him.

He felt like crying.

Sniffling, he buried his face in his hands. The last time this had happened, it had been a long, long time ago, back when his mother had been alive. She had just hugged him close and together they had gone to wash his soiled bedding and clothes. But afterwards, his brothers had mocked him and called him “baby,” when they had figured out why his bedroll was lain down to dry.

_No, no… what should I do? Mother is dead!_

He couldn’t bother Hiko-san, not with this… Because his mother had been his mother and she had loved him no matter how stupid he had been or how much he had cried. But Hiko-san wouldn’t ever want him as a student if he knew this. 

_No, no one can know this, but what –_

The petting comfort feeling interrupted his fretting, followed by images of a lake, of washing cloth, the rising sun. Then, a sense of urgency.

Spirit-friend was right, the boy realized, and took a deep breath.  _Yes, that’s what we should do._

There was water close to them, too. He had admired it yesterday evening when the road had taken them next to a big lake with more water than the eye could see. So he swallowed, gathered his bedroll into his arms and sneaked off to the shore.

The smell of salt was stronger there.

The morning was cold and clammy and the sky was filled with gray clouds so heavy that the sun couldn’t be seen through them. And when he got to the waterfront and started washing his bedding, the water felt funny to his hands, and so very cold. It was colder than the well water back in the mountains had ever been!

But it didn’t matter, because it was water and it had to work! Hurriedly, he scrubbed his bedding with sand, wrung it as dry as he could and laid it on the water beaten rocks on the shore. Then, even though he was already shivering and his skin become an odd blue shade, he stripped out of his damp hakama pants and washed them, too.

His shirt didn’t feel wet, but his sleeves had red stains in them.

 _…Oh, the blood,_ he gulped in half-veiled panic.

No, Hiko-san shouldn’t know that either. After all, what could he say if the swordsman asked where he had gotten the red stains? Nothing, not if he wanted to keep the spirit-friend a secret. 

So he washed his face and mopped the side of his neck to be safe. The morning light’s reflection on the water’s surface mirrored enough for him to see that there wasn’t that much blood.

 _Only very little._ He frowned judiciously. _It couldn’t have been a_   _bad wound, then._

His teeth clattered madly when he finally stepped out of the water. While the freezing water had been bad enough, somehow the slight gust of wind made it even worse. However, when he knelt to pick up the wet bundle in his arms, something lodged into his throat and he realized there was no way he could get his clothes to dry out here.

Suddenly, a sound of heavy steps crunched behind him.

 _Oh no._ The boy turned to look around in panicked disbelief.  _No. This can’t be happening. No –_

“Odd time to wash your clothing,” Hiko-san remarked dryly.

_What can I do? Should I try to hide what happened?_

‘Lie,’ the spirit whispered.

 _But mother told me to never lie! She said that only bad boys lied!_   _What should I do? There are no good choices at all!_  And _s_ uddenly, a hiccup escaped from his lips and he just blurted it out. “I wet the bed!”

Immediately he dropped his gaze to his toes, feeling more ashamed than ever before. It hurt, because he knew he had just destroyed every chance of gaining Hiko-san’s approval…

“I see.”

The awkward silence echoed the swordsman’s words.  

The boy didn’t dare look at him and it felt like the horrifying silence just stretched on and on. But then, finally, Hiko-san said in an odd voice, “I will start breakfast. We will move out when Asano wakes up.”

The crunching of sand and stones ended the conversation, and swallowing the boy glanced up from between his lashes and saw the swordsman walking away, his white cape flapping in the wind.

_Huh…_

_That’s it? He didn’t yell, didn’t lash out… nothing. Just what does that mean?_ The boy frowned in though, returning once more to wringing his clothes a bit dryer. It didn’t escape him that the swordsman’s coldness hadn’t budged a bit, feeling the same as it always had. Hiko-san hadn’t called him by his name, either. He just left quickly, without really saying anything.

 _If anything, it’s like he was embarrassed too_ … The boy swallowed dryly, trying not to remember how his brothers had reacted when they had been shamed. It was even worse!

‘What if it means that Hiko-san hates us now?’

‘Ask,’ the spirit suggested.

 _But what if asking will make him even angrier?_ the boy thought helplessly, the weight of the unknown continuing to pile on his shoulders. However, the spirit had a point, because he needed to know and this was important.  

So nodding just once, he conceded to the suggestion. After all, if Hiko-san was already angry with him, getting him angrier wouldn’t matter much.

_Yes, I’ll ask him._

_Besides, didn’t he say that old man Asano is still sleeping?_   _So really, now is the perfect chance to ask if I am Hiko-san’s student or not._

 _…And what Hiko-san plans to do in Hiroshima._ He gulped, but finally, with determination etched on his face,  he gathered his wet clothing in his arms and headed back to camp. However, when he got there, Hiko-san didn’t say a word to him, not even in greeting, just shoved a bowl of rice into his hands and took the wet bundle to hang out to dry near the fire.

The boy didn’t even have a chance to do anything else than gape in befuddlement, because all of a sudden his stomach rumbled loudly, letting him know that he hadn’t eaten in half a day. In a daze and badly out of balance, he settled to eat and tried to figure out how to ask the right things. After all, asking stupid things would only needlessly annoy Hiko-san. Swordsman didn’t like talking with people, he knew, and so it made sense to ask only the most important questions.

Just as he was finally gathering courage to voice his questions, the blankets rustled at the side and a loud yawn came from Asano-san’s direction.

“Ah! Breakfast is ready!”

 _No! Why didn’t the old man sleep longer?!_ The boy bit his lip in disgruntlement. It wasn’t like he could ask these things when Asano was there… To add salt to the wound, the merchant settled to sit next to Hiko-san as calm as he pleased, without even sparing the boy but his customary frown.

_Uh, maybe there will be a better moment tonight?_

 

* * *

 

Travelling that day wasn’t any better than the miserable morning had been. Not only had his pants not had any time to dry properly and he had to walk with the damp cloth clinging to his legs, feeling all nasty, but even worse was that when old man Asano had seen his wet clothes and blankets, it was like he had known with one look what had happened and he had looked at him like he was something dirty.

The boy hadn’t thought it was possible for him to feel any worse than he already did, but that poisonous look was thousand times worse than the heavy teasing his brothers had ever bestowed on him so long ago.

What struck the feeling even deeper, however, was the merchant’s idle remark to Hiko-san. “A strong and capable lad, eh?” 

Somehow, when he was so blatantly compared to Asano’s son, of whom the merchant had so proudly boasted about to Hiko-san…

… _Just_   _why did Hiko-san take me with him, again?_

No matter how the boy had tried to figure out the answer to these troubles, to gain any understanding of the swordsman and his expectations, the less he understood.

Asano-san had a good and perfect boy, who was big and strong and smart and polite, and he was none of those things. After all, he didn’t know much about anything; he was too small and weak to be useful. Even father had thought so before the sickness! And worse, he was different. People like that samurai spat at the sight of him.

The spirit-friend wasn’t very helpful either. Maybe it was because it didn’t see things like humans did, but it suggested that Asano had lied about his son. It kept saying that the boy shouldn’t think so lowly of himself, that he would be a perfectly good student for Hiko-san.

It just showed that the spirit didn’t understand anything, if it didn’t even see how lacking he was!

Feeling sorry for himself, the boy didn’t even bother watching the other travelers on the road. No, all his earlier excitement and curiosity was gone, buried under his worries. Every step he took felt harder to take. It really didn’t help that just this morning at breakfast old man Asano had eagerly mentioned how happy he was to reach Hiroshima tomorrow.

No, he was running out of time.

And the longer he thought about it, the clearer it became that old Asano-san’s perfect son would be a better student to Hiko-san. If he could realize it, so could Hiko-san and the swordsman had said it himself, there was only one master and one student of his sword style at one given time.

The fact was that Hiko-san didn’t need him, and what did people do with the things they didn’t need? It was like old Ine-sama, who had been given a child she didn’t need… but she had needed money.

Just like Hiko-san.

There was something lodged in his throat, making it harder to breathe, and the boy hugged his arms around himself.

It didn’t help, because his feet felt like lead and time was running out.

 

* * *

 

The morning had been embarrassing and bad, the day full of doubts and fears. But now that they were at the evening meal and it was the last chance the boy would get to ask Hiko-san what he intended to do at Hiroshima.

It was the question he needed to know more than anything else.

And even if it was rude, and he was nearly drowning in terror, he still felt like he owed something to Hiko-san. After all, the swordsman had taken him in, given him a name and cleaned his wounds. What was more, Hiko-san had given him his shirt to sleep in, even he didn’t have a spare, and he had been something like a steady rock in the boy’s life these past couple weeks when he had nothing and had been utterly lost.

So, for all those things the boy would trust Hiko-san once more and ask this one question, because he needed to know what was going to happen and even the spirit friend agreed with him.

It didn’t matter that old man Asano was there and looked at him like he wasn’t supposed to be there, bothering adults with his dirty presence.

 _No, it doesn’t matter because I don’t have time to wait anymore._ The boy braced himself and asked hesitantly, “Hiko-san?”

“What is it, boy?” The swordsman raised his brow.

 _He said boy_ — _not Kenshin. A boy._   _A boy is not a person…_ He swallowed dryly, but didn’t relent because this was important. “What are you going to do in Hiroshima?”

_I did it!_

Old man Asano’s face twisted into an ugly scowl for the bad manners of a child speaking to an adult so directly. Even Hiko-san frowned at him, his ki dropping a shade colder, before he replied, “I am going to buy and restock supplies.”

 _I. Hiko-san said I, not we._  His heart beat madly in his chest; it was becoming harder to breathe and his hands shook. 

_No. No, it isn’t possible…_

“Supplies?” he managed to stutter.  _Hiko-san is going to buy things. Buy. Buying needs money. Hiko-san doesn’t have a lot of money._

“Food, clothing. The snowfall is coming.”

The words were delivered coldly, dispassionately, and with them the boy’s last hopes that it wasn’t true just broke apart.  _That’s it. It’s really going to happen… Hiko-san is really going to do exactly as Ine-sama did._

_No! I need to get away, now!_

“What a disrespectful lad! A fine sword master such as you, should…” Asano drawled, but the boy couldn’t focus on the words from his panic. 

No, what he said to get away from the campfire, the boy didn’t know, but the next thing he noticed were his shaking hands struggling to tie the bedroll into a neat bundle for carrying. Thankfully, he had done it so many times that he managed it with only a few missteps, even in his frenzied state. The last of his food, the despised dried fish he had hoarded so carefully these weeks got packed inside the bedroll, too, and then he stopped to make sure he had his precious top and water jug.

_Yes, I have everything._

A final glance at the campfire where the men were murmuring felt like he lost his family again. But he needed to leave, quickly – before he would be sold again.

 _No, don’t think, just go! Now!_ And with that, the boy slipped into the night.  

 

* * *

 

 

Hiko scowled at Asano, barely tolerating the old merchant’s constant yapping. Distantly, the boy’s ki felt distressed.

_Just what on earth is going on with that kid?_

Thankfully, it wouldn’t be long before they would be rid of the annoying old merchant. Hiko really didn’t think he could stand to listen one night more about how perfect Asano’s fourth son would be for sword training and how impressed the merchant was with him and his sword-style.

Honestly, Asano was like a salivating dog seeing a bone and trying to find a way to get it.

Of course, Hiko knew why the old man kept insisting; the strength of Hiten Mitsurugi swordsmanship was obvious to even a blind man and for a merchant family, such power would be useful beyond words. Especially as the boy offered for training was the  _fourth_ son, the one not needed for continuing family business and one too far in inheritance line to be of use for furthering the family unions.

Frankly, not only did he find such blatant opportunistic attitude disgusting, it also brought back memories best left forgotten. Still, there didn’t seem to be a way to deter Asano tactfully and annoying or not, the old merchant was needed to pay for the completed job, so there wasn’t much to be done about it.

During the travel time, Hiko had tried to stay as far away as possible from the old man, but at the mealtimes that hadn’t been an option and he had been left with firm and polite refusals.

A hopeless task, truly.

It wouldn’t have been such an issue but for the fact that dealing with Asano left the boy somewhat neglected. The lesser of two evils to be sure, but it was still detrimental to Hiko’s plans for the boy.

Another such sour decision was allowing Asano to keep bossing his apprentice around to do chores. It would keep the boy lodged too deeply in his slavering obedience and wouldn’t help him to develop independent thinking. But on the other hand, it worked well to keep the boy from listening to Asano’s tedious and fairly insulting persuasions.    

The old merchant’s problem with the foreigners was a little bit over the top. However, it was a fairly common attitude, especially among the older folk, and at least Asano was tactful enough not to voice his issues in front of the boy. Gods only knew how the boy would take all that crap to heart, not being old enough yet to have learned to ignore such attitudes.

But what came to his apprentice, Hiko was becoming worried for his mental state.

The boy’s trouble with sleeping was obvious, and even Asano couldn’t snore uninterrupted through his nightmares. However, there was very little he could do about them but to let them pass on their own – it was how he dealt with his own nightly horrors, too.

But then there was that living memory after their encounter with the bandits, and now the boy was waking up screaming and wetting the bed… All this indicated clearly that the boy’s issues were becoming a problem that needed to be resolved or at least dealt with.

However, Hiko was hopeful that the boy was becoming better. Today the boy had finally gathered the courage to initiate a conversation. A positive sign, one that he hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of for fear of scaring the kid more, but it had been one of this miserable week’s best developments. When the kid lost his courage halfway through, he hadn’t been surprised and had let him retire early.

Staying behind, Hiko had been left to fight with the desire to strangle Asano because he couldn’t see a polite way to excuse himself from the situation either. It was only sometime later that he calmed down and realized all of sudden that he couldn’t feel the boy’s familiar, softly flowing ki anywhere.

_What on earth?_

Asano was still yapping about training, his sons and swordsmanship.

“Quiet,” Hiko ordered firmly. It was hard to focus through the constant noise, but even so he should be able to feel the boy’s quiet spiritual aura from quite a distance…

Asano’s mouth fell open in outrage, but he did fall silent.

However, even a triple check later the results were still the same. Either the boy had suddenly developed an ability to mask his presence, a feat that even the skilled users of spiritual manipulation would be hard pressed to copy, or… he simply wasn’t there.

Neitherof the options made any sense.

“I need to go check on the boy. Please, forgive me this rudeness.” Though his tone was curt, he bowed slightly. His feelings aside, it would be rather stupid to anger his meal ticket when a little politeness could ease the way.

Taking his time, Hiko started by checking the surroundings of the merchant’s wagon where the boy had taken to sleeping. The results were predictable; the kid was nowhere to be found and even more worryingly, the boy’s bedroll was missing from the spot he recalled Kenshin leaving it.

What had happened?

No one had been near the camp, of that Hiko was absolutely sure of. It didn’t matter how distracted or annoyed he had been, because he would have noticed any foreign presences nearing them, or at least heard or seen something suspicious. There hadn’t been any sense of a fright from the boy either, just that general feeling of distress the boy always seemed to radiate.

So no, he hadn’t slipped up in his guard duties, thank you very much. But what did that leave him with?

 _Hmmm, but why would the boy leave out of his own volition?_ Hiko frowned, and searched his memories for the evening. No, there hadn’t been a single thing worth mentioning. The boy had been somewhat jumpier, yes, but it could have just as well been from the harsh night before and the morning episode with the bedwetting.

_Leaving now, especially now that we are nearly in Hiroshima – it makes no sense. No, damned if I am going let it to end like this._

_I have to find the boy and get some answers!_

While it hadn’t been long since Hiko had seen the kid, the boy couldn’t have gone far with those short legs.Where to, though? The kid couldn’t be stupid enough to go into the woods, not at night. So that left the road; which way though?

To or away from Hiroshima?

_If I was distressed and running away, where would I go?_

_Away from the people, obviously._ Hikoscoffed. But the kid was not him, so where would the boy go?

_Dammit all to hell._

He couldn’t even begin to guess, but there were only two choices. If could just figure out the kid’s motives, picking the odds would be easy. But standing at the road, a grimace on his lips, he couldn’t help thinking,  _Have I_   _truly fallen so low? Playing guessing games without any facts?_

The odds, the motives… none of it mattered. He was fast and checking both directions was well within his capabilities.  

 

* * *

 

The boy was stumbling in the dark, his eyes wet with tears and he tried to keep breathing. And though he was a big boy and big boys didn’t cry, it all felt so overwhelmingly bad.

_My hopes, my dreams of not being alone…_

The spirit tried to comfort him, but for some reason its attempts made the boy feel even worse. Right now, comfort was the  _last_  thing he wanted.

No, right now all he wanted was to be alone.

Alone, so that no one could try to sell him. It couldn’t hurt so much to be alone either, and he wouldn’t have to see how people didn’t like him.

Falling every now and then in the darkness, he trudged forward as fast as he could away from Hiroshima. The thick clouds didn’t let much moonlight shine through, but it didn’t matter. He hurt too much to be scared of the dark anymore.

How long he had been walking he couldn’t say, but all of sudden he heard footsteps behind him and then a familiar sensation of coldness.

 _No!_ Thunderstruck, he stopped. Throat gone dry, he swallowed thickly. Then, not daring to turn around to look behind him, he said, “I won’t be sold again.”

A silence was his only answer.

“Never again. Even if…” he hiccupped, “even if you need money to buy things for winter, and you can get a better student in Asano’s son.”

“So that was it, huh,” Hiko’s deep voice remarked blandly. The boy didn’t know what it meant, but then the swordsman continued. “Why do you think that I would take Asano’s son as my student?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, the boy didn’t turn around. For some reason, it felt easier to talk like this. “Because he is bigger and stronger and smarter. Polite. Obedient. He knows how to read and write –“

Pausing to draw a deep breath, he continued even more frantically, “I heard Asano-san! His son is so much better than me! And he is not ugly and weird like me! Asano’s son is not a  _foreigner_!” The last word he spat out just like he would say a bad word.

It felt good to say those things out loud and get them off his chest.

“Huh.”  

 _Just what does that mean? Why can’t Hiko-san make any sense?!  Surely he should do or say or yell something? This quietness is horrible!_ Gods, how badly the boy wanted to speak bad words, or to yell at the swordsman just to fill this silence. But still, even after everything, he simply couldn’t be angry at Hiko-san.

_I just don’t know what to do!_

However, it had felt good to speak his thoughts out loud, so he continued, “I understand why you would rather take Asano’s son as your student. I won’t think badly of you for it. But just… please, let me go. Don’t sell me!”

“You are an idiot, Kenshin,” Hiko-san finally said.

His mouth gaping wide open, the boy couldn’t help but to stare ahead blankly, feeling numb all over. _‘Idiot.’_   _Idiot is a bad word. But, but Hiko-san said my name..?_

“You think too much, but don’t think enough to ask. You assume and let your fears guide you.”

_…What?_

“I am not going to sell you. I am not going to take Asano’s son as my student.” Hiko-san scoffed, and his ki started to feel slightly warmer. “The Hiten Mitsurugi style is only used by two, the master and the student. The second time I met you, I told you that I will teach you.”

And even if his heart was beating rabbit fast, every word Hiko-san spoke made it easier to breathe.

“I am Hiko Seijuuro the 13th. I will honor my word. I have no need to lie.”

Suddenly, a step crunched behind him and he looked over his shoulder, only to see Hiko-san walking towards him. The moonlight shone brightly one the swordsman’s white cloak and made him look like a spirit or a demon from the children’s tales. “I claimed you, boy – gave you a name. You are Kenshin, my student and I won’t let you go.”

It was like the truth in those words broke something in the boy, and he sniffled. Taking a step, another, and then nothing mattered anymore and he ran to Hiko-san, and hugged the swordsman’s legs with all his strength.

Hiko-san let him cry, patting his back a few times, before stroking his hair.  

It felt good to cry.

 

* * *

 

When all of his tears had fallen, he let go of Hiko-san’s legs and dried his eyes with his sleeve.

“You alright, boy?”  

Swallowing, he bit his lip before coming to a resolution and hesitantly asked, “Kenshin. My name is Kenshin. You gave it to me. Could you use it, please?”

It was rather rude to demand something like that, and he didn’t dare look up, just waited in silence. However, Hiko-san didn’t feel cold or angry, and after a moment he risked a covert look up through his lashes. The swordsman’s brow was raised in question, and the boy cringed, trying to explain. “People who are respected have names. Slaves don’t. No one but mother and Kasumi has called me by my name. Old Ine-sama didn’t.”

He paused to take a deep breath, but because Hiko-san didn’t feel angry yet, he felt a little bit surer and offered, “I will call you whatever you want me to call you, but I want to be called by my name in return.”

Suddenly, a loud scoff echoed in the air.

“Traditionally, the student calls his teacher master,” the swordsman rumbled. “Kenshin.”

Looking up, a hopeful smile beginning to tug at his lips, he watched Hiko-san shake his head and turn around to walk away.

_Hiko-san… No, master._

Then the boy, no… Kenshin, said it out loud, tasting the words. “Yes, master.”

_Yes, it feels right._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then rewritten completely in June 2015 and edited 11.7.2015 by BelovedStranger


	8. Out of the frying pan into the fire

# Chapter 7. Out of the frying pan into the fire

 

They arrived at the city of Hiroshima the next day.

Kenshin had never seen so many people in the same place before, and at first, he was a bit overwhelmed. However, not too long after his natural curiosity in new things won over. However, no matter how rude staring was, Master just told him to stay close and even answered the occasional question without much grumbling.

When they arrived to old man Asano’s house, the merchant paid the wage as promised. However, before they had managed to take their leave, old man Asano had insisted on introducing his son, Hideyoshi, to Master. While the swordsman was polite during the introduction and short discussion, at the near end, he glanced from the corner of his eye at Kenshin and raised his brow in a silent question.

Hideyoshi was tall and strong, yes. He seemed like a nice person, in truth, and under other circumstances Kenshin would have been glad to befriend the boy. However, right at that moment, he felt terribly inadequate in comparison and couldn’t help a staggering wave of pure jealousy sweeping over him like a thunderstorm. 

 _If I was tall and strong like Hideyoshi, I could have helped Kasumi, I wouldn’t have been left alone, would never have been sold…_ The bitter thoughts rose, and he looked to the side, trying to swallow down the taste of copper on his tongue. No, if all those horrors had to happen, then at least he wouldn’t have to keep wondering why Master had chosen him as his only apprentice. Because no matter the swordsman’s earlier speech about keeping his word, not needing to lie… It didn’t make any more sense now than it had yesterday night. 

But then again, maybe it didn’t need to?

Master had acknowledged him, had chosen him and had kept his word _._

And because of that, Kenshin paused to take a breath, then bit his lip and raised his gaze, battling through his own jealousy and uncertainty, carefully ignoring all the spirit friend’s angry mutters and dark feelings towards Asano-san’s son.

It must have been one of the most difficult things he had done, to nod in answer to Master’s silent question. 

To choose to trust, to ignore his fears.

But when they left the compound together, he started to breathe easier. Like with every step there was a weight lifting away from his shoulders.

It wasn’t a long travel from there to the city proper, and as the first order of business, Master asked directions to a swordsmith. Kenshin tugged the swordsman’s sleeve in silent question, not quite knowing how to ask with words. Thankfully, Master seemed to understand him just fine, and remarked dryly, “What else were you going to begin practicing with? A wooden stick? No. You will need a proper sword.”

And that was that.

Now he was carrying a real sword tugged through his belt. It felt heavy and hit against his shin every now and then, especially when he turned too fast, or took a bit too long a step. To make it more awkward, it seemed to get tangled at his wide pant legs quite often and bump into things or people.

However, none of that mattered because it was  _his_  sword and the best thing he had ever been given.

Though it had been bit strange how, at the smithy, the craftsman had been surprised to learn Master wanted to buy a real sword for him for some reason. It had taken some convincing, but the craftsman had finally relented to Hiko-san insistence and allowed them to test the blades until they found a suitable one _–_ an used wakizashi. It was a short sword that had been brought to the smithy for repair some years back, and Master said that it was a blade he could grow into, but was short enough for him to work with already.

Kenshin hadn’t yet had a time to properly admire his sword, because right after Master had taken him to buy warmer clothes for winter. He now had a new shirt, pants, really warm and odd fur boots, ugly hat and heavy mittens. All of these were now rolled inside his blanket adding to its bulk. He had never owned this much stuff in his life, and somehow, there was this lingering doubt that kept whispering to him. ‘ _You cannot be this lucky, cannot have this much – you are not allowed.’_

However, Master had bought all of these things for him and made it clear that all of it was needed, so maybe it was okay. And considering what had happened the last time…

_‘Kenshin, you are an idiot –‘_

So, he decided to ignore the creeping doubts and imagined stomping on them for a good measure. Then he wiped his hands, only to get a questioning look from Master for this silliness. He smiled innocently back at the swordsman, getting a scoff in return.

 _Maybe we are both learning,_ he thought happily, feeling even better.

Thus, when they were buying food supplies, he dared to tug at Master’s sleeve to get his attention before he paid the first price the vendor lady asked. Master curtly apologized for the interruption to the vendor and then followed him to the sidelines, where he demanded an explanation.

“No one pays the first price. You are supposed to haggle. It’s a game,” Kenshin explained to Master frantically, hoping not to cause disappointment _._

 _But this is important and Master already used so much money on me._ He inwardly cringed, but then shook his head. No, if there was something he could do to help, he shouldn’t doubt himself.

Master raised his brow and looked down at him long before the corners of his lips tugged upwards slightly and he scoffed, “I suppose you would know about haggling. Alright, you do have a point. Thank you, Kenshin.”

That sign of approval was so obvious, it felt so good that it was almost like Kenshin’s heart was about to burst in sheer pride. 

 _I did well!_  

Then the moment passed. Master returned to the vendor and started a long bout of haggling. Every now and then, the swordsman’s coldness spiked, and he seemed tenser and tenser, but finally the deal was closed properly without too many swearwords or a further incident. Afterwards, Hiko-san asked him, “So. How did I do?”

Kenshin thought about it before smiling shyly. “Good.” And after a moment’s pause, he dared to add, “But she won.”

Master’s stare was piercing, his coldness freezing to stillness, and the whispering doubts screamed at him that he had been too rude, had gone over the limit… 

But then, the swordsman scoffed, shook his head and ruffled his hair.

 

* * *

 

After that, they didn’t stay in the city long. Master had said that it was because living in a city was expensive, but Kenshin rather thought that it was because of all the people. So, they were travelling again and now that there wasn’t anything to slow Master down, the swordsman set the pace fast. It made Kenshin tire out quickly and they had to take breaks every now and then when he just couldn’t continue. However, when he had asked about it, Master said that it was good for training.

On top of all the walking, Master had him practicing basic sword strikes with his new blade every morning and evening after the meals. It was just a simple straight strike to the head, and after repeating it time after time, he couldn’t help wondering how useful it could be. After all, he had never seen anyone use it. Finally, when he had dared to ask, Master admitted that it wasn’t a very practical move in fights, but it was an important first step as it would teach him to hold the blade in the right way and would help him to learn the ‘correct posture’.

After training, Master would draw pictures in the ground with a stick and explain what it meant. Then he would have him repeat it until he got it right. It was a little bit silly, but Master said that it was important – and when he learned that knowing the letters would lead to knowing how to read and write, just like old man Asano’s brilliant son, he didn’t mind it at all.

One morning, encouraged by the familiar mood, he dared to ask how his name was written. Master showed him and said that it was built from two pictures; “heart” and “sword”.

A good name, Kenshin thought judiciously and stared at the two scribbled pictures on the ground. Curious, he then asked about his former name. Master obliged and drew it, warning him that it might not be the correct one, there were apparently many possibilities, but the most likely was “heart” and “big”.

There wasn’t much difference between the two, he decided. The only real difference was that now even his name told that he had a sword and was learning to use it. It was fitting in a way, and somehow made the new name feel more like his.

The reading and writing lessons became a daily routine for them. It was even fun most of the time, although there seemed to be so many pictures. It was almost stupid, really - how could anyone remember all of them? Master had scoffed at him, and told him that no one could, and most people remembered only the most common ones.

But didn’t that mean that most of the people couldn’t read or write very well? Why would they write like that? It just didn’t make sense that no one hadn’t made up a simpler way.

Not that he dared to say any of this aloud, especially after Master told him how ‘intelligent and educated’ people spent years learning to write the words, and how it was ‘perfection in the motion’ to see beautifully written words and how ‘calligraphy represented the best virtues’.

It all seemed to matter a lot to Master.

So he decided to give it his best effort. And in truth, the word-pictures were kind of pretty once he got used to them. Not that impossible to remember either, once he realized that the lines came to look a bit like a picture the word represented.

The time they travelled was still spent in silence. Master seemed to enjoy the quiet and because of all the lessons, Kenshin thought that it was okay to give him some peace. It wasn’t like he had no one to talk with; after all, spirit-friend was always there.

So, weeks went by. The last leaves left the trees and it was becoming colder to sleep outside. Kenshin had taken to wearing both of his shirts at nights. The nightmares hadn’t bothered him much anymore, now that he was so tired every night.

All in all, it was almost nice, living like this.

They had crossed another border post and started towards the mountains. Climbing was hard work for him, and it was there that the first snowfall had finally come. Kenshin had seen snow before, of course; he had been born near a mountain and the snowfall had been a given thing every winter.

However, he had never tried to sleep outside in the winter.

Master said that it wasn’t nice, but it could be done. So, he showed Kenshin how to stomp the snow and how to find stuff under the bed roll to insulate it, how to build small walls from snow to protect against the wind and to keep warmth better, and how to sleep while sitting up. It was still cold, even after Kenshin wore all of his clothes throughout the day. And after some grumbling, he started to wear his most hated piece of clothing, too: the new knitted hat. Against the freezing coldness it didn’t matter that it was ugly and awkward, felt odd on his ears or that it was too big and fell to cover his eyes every now and then.

Then it got even colder, and none of his new clothes were enough to stop him from shivering. Those nights Master said it was okay if Kenshin wanted to sleep next to him. And he did – under the odd white cloak and Hiko-san’s large arm, it was safe and warm to sleep.

The winter weather made the camping different, too. Usually, they made camp on the road side, and in the autumn it had even been practical. Why should they waste time and effort to seek better shelter? But with heavy snowfall or during particularly nasty wind, the open roadsides weren’t ideal and Master would build some cover from the conifer branches or would try to find a cave or a hollow in the mountainside.

They had also taken to travelling longer. Kenshin hadn’t protested, because walking kept him warmer, but the snow covered roads were slippery and harder to walk, so the travel pace slowed down. They would stop to rest when he couldn’t continue anymore and start travelling again when he felt fit enough for it. During the days, master would give him dried meat to chew on. He wasn’t used to walking and eating at the same time, and it was odd – almost silly, but he learned the trick to it fast enough. What was weird though, was how he ate and ate a lot more than usual, but he would never feel full.

Walking in the snow all day long was… weird. He had to lift his feet higher and the roads were mostly upslope – it was causing him to tire out easily. Or maybe it was the cold. No matter what he did, it was always so cold.

It wasn’t a surprise that sometime later his nose started to run. It had happened every winter back home and Mother had kept him indoors then… but it wasn’t odd or dangerous. Just annoying. So, he was constantly sniffling and wiping the snot to his sleeves. His lips felt raw and chapped and the skin under his nose was tender; the snot oozing down to it stung, but wiping it away hurt more.

What was surprising, however, was when after a particularly nasty night, he wasn’t cold any more. Nothing about the weather had changed, but for some reason, he was sweating. He told Master, who took a good look at him, touched his brow and said a really bad word, his ki feeling really, really odd. Then Master lifted him into his arms, and it was almost nice to fall asleep, resting his head against Master’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

After leaving Hiroshima, Hiko had chosen to wander north. He wasn’t sure what to do about the winter. These past three years that he had been by himself on the road, he had just travelled through the winter and played it by ear. If the weather had taken a bad turn, he had found a safe spot to tide over the worst. In a way, travelling in the winter season was almost a blessing, for it was sure to take his mind away from his memories.

Then it was just him and nature.

It helped him to remember that people were just a tiny part of the world and their worries didn’t matter much in the larger scale, thus making all his regrets and horrors settle into a manageable scope.  

But he was not travelling alone anymore—now he had an apprentice. Regardless of the rocky start, Kenshin was proving to be almost a pleasure to teach; he learned fast and didn’t need much instruction. And the way the kid had taken the blade, almost like a fish that had been put to water and had realized it could swim! The correct grip, the delicate movements that guided the blade, the right footwork – he needed to give just an example and occasional correction, and Kenshin could keep it up and perform every strike like it was supposed to.

It was almost odd; gods knew that most men would become lazy with the boring repetitions and start to prefer one hand over other, move their point of balance, never understanding the necessity of performing the exercises in the exact way and thus forging the motions to muscle memory.

But Kenshin never faltered.

The little waif just kept to the correct motions and did the repeats until he told the boy to quit for the night. Either it meant that the kid was a natural or a perfectionist. At this point, it was hard to say which – the taught motions were simple, and Hiko wasn’t about to start pushing the kid too fast just to satisfy his curiosity.

And in any case, both were very positive traits.

Another thing to be pleased about was how the reading and writing lessons were shaping up. Hiko had many issues about teaching such basics, especially when the subject was one he personally cared much about. With his memory and how the calligraphy had been one of the few good things from his youth before the sword, he hadn’t been very enthusiastic about seeing a child to mangle the carefully choreographed motions he still found comfort in. But to his surprise, especially considering the lack of teaching materials, the boy had proven to have a good eye for letters and remembered the words fairly easily.

During those evening exercises, they had also had some good discussions, and Kenshin had slowly been breaking out of his muteness and started talking more.

Occasionally even asking questions unprompted!

However, after listening to the boy talk and ask questions freely, he had begun to understand that Kenshin’s mind worked in decidedly odd ways. The kid would occasionally ask questions that even he didn’t know an answer for; such as about spirits, or even more oddly, about memories stored in walls, of all things…

Hmmph, kids!

But all in all, they had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. It was almost pleasant.

These past years he had been on the road, the winter had been a hard season to travel and usually only the desperate or the foolish dared to risk the road then. Hiko was neither, but had rather taken a likening to the solitude and the challenge the winter offered for traveler. But now that he had Kenshin, it was becoming clear that he would need to figure out other options.

The snowfall was unusually late this year, even though it was nearing the last weeks of the year. The air was still moist and there hadn’t even been night frost. It was an indication that the winter should prove to be exceptionally mild, so Hiko decided to risk it and head to the western coast. He could find some suitable work in some town or village, and they could wait out the coldest months. The lowlands would be good for finding bodyguard jobs and the Izumo prefecture was particularly lax about Ronin. There would be no issues with overly sensitive Samurai… unlike in Aki.

So, a plan in mind, he chose the road through the mountains. If the weather would continue to hold, they wouldn’t even have to suffer through any snow.

 _Of course_  it wasn’t to be.

The first snow fell before they were even halfway through the mountains. If he could have hit himself for his stupidity, he would have. Damn his best laid plans and stubborn pride.

It was clear from early on that Kenshin couldn’t handle the bad weather like him. It was no wonder, now that he stopped to think about it – he was a healthy adult man at his peak, and Kenshin was… a scrawny child, and so very thin. But no matter the circumstances, it was just as long a way back at that point, so he just carried on, never letting his worries show, just handling the situation the best he could. He tried to find good places to make camp, gave the kid dried meat to chew on to keep his strength up while they walked, showed Kenshin how to handle the cold weather and occasionally on really cold nights even invited the badly shivering child to sleep next to him.

So they managed.

Survived the weather and nature.  

They were almost done with the mountains when the kid started sniffling and then the exhaustion caused by little sleep and long days of walking finally caught up with him.

The fever rose.

Hiko cursed and picked the kid up, and hurried to find help. Screw his pride, screw his plans, and screw his arrogance! There was no time and there was no questioning the need – the fever could kill.

 

* * *

 

The boy woke up to faint clattering sounds. It was warm, warm for the first time in forever, but still _everything hurt_. And more importantly, he was thirsty.

His eyes felt like they had been dried shut, and opening them was difficult, but after a few tries he managed.

_Huh, that’s a ceiling._

_A ceiling!_

When had he last seen a ceiling from the inside?

“Oh, you are finally awake! Here, drink this,” a kind, soft voice called out, and then somebody was lifting him to sit up. Something warm and tasty was poured into his mouth. He tried to swallow – coughed –  _why is drinking hard?_

Someone was wiping his face with a cloth.

“Just try to drink. It will help you feel better. You have been very sick.”

The kind voice had been so nice and calm that it was easy to stop thinking and  _just obey_.

Drinking was slow going, but he managed to get most of the broth swallowed.

He felt so tired. Everything hurt.

“Just sleep.”

 

* * *

 

“He is getting better finally. I managed to get him to drink some broth earlier, so the worst should be over now. He should eat as much as he can, really. He is terribly thin.”

“Was he coherent?”

“As much as could be expected. He didn’t speak, didn’t even try.”

“That’s not surprising. Kenshin rarely speaks unprompted.”

“Is there something wrong with him?”

“No. The boy is just shy around strangers.”

“Oh… that explains it. Some children can be wary of new adults like that. But really, what possessed you to take a risk like that!? Going through the mountains in the middle of winter! With a child, no less!”

“My reasons are my own. However, I thank you for your concern and your hospitality.”

“Forgive me my rudeness. It’s not my place to question your reasons. But please, I cannot in good conscience let you go out there again. It will be a certain death to you and to that child, and this year has seen enough death.”

“True. However, I couldn’t impose upon your generosity.”

“By all means, please do.” Laughter. “I could use the company.”

“I cannot offer much as compensation for your kindness…”

“Keep your compensation. I have plenty, but it’s the company and conversation I lack. And strong arms, too, to help out with a chore or two.”

“I will, of course, offer you my assistance where you need it.”

“Then it’s settled.”

 

* * *

 

Next time the boy woke, it was dark.

He really had to pee.

He tried to rise, but it hurt. His arms shook against his weight and his legs felt more like limp grass. How could he walk like this? Where should he even go?

“What is it?” Master’s voice called.

“I need to get to the outhouse,” the boy explained, embarrassed. Maybe if he waited, the kind voice would return…

A rustle. Someone rising. Steps.

“All right, up we go,” Master said and lifted him to stand. The boy’s legs shook and didn’t feel steady at all.

“Can you walk?”

“I don’t think so,” he admitted.

“It’s too cold out there for you. Just use the bucket there and lean on me.”

Eyes wide and blood rushing to his cheeks, the boy stared in mortification at the large shape in darkness. No! He couldn’t, not in front of master! But… But the kind voice wasn’t here, Master was and his legs didn’t feel sturdy enough, and he really had to pee.

So he swallowed, and nodded, then hesitantly leaned onto the swordsman and started to walk slowly, like his legs had forgotten how to work properly.

Afterwards, Master helped him back to the bed and tucked a blanket back on him.

“Just try to sleep.”

He was too tired to complain or to ask questions, and it was really nice and warm and dark and…

 

* * *

 

Rustling. Odd low ticking sounds, like something hit together in a steady clip. Breathing?

_Someone is close by?_

The ticking continued and it was almost nice to listen to it, but after a while curiosity won and Kenshin opened his eyes slowly, turned his head a bit.

There was a person… a woman was sitting next to him. She was doing something with her hands, no, with wooden sticks that she hit together to make that noise. There was yarn surrounding the sticks…  _She is weaving it together?_

Fascinated, never having seen such a thing, he stared. Not that he had seen the woman before either, but she didn’t feel threatening. Her spirit felt –  _soft and very faint, like lukewarm water?_

 _Where am I, anyway?_ Inside a house, yes, with a woman he didn’t know, and she was doing something odd that he didn’t know what it was either. Feeling at loss but disinclined to move or to ask from this strange person… that left, the better option, really.

‘Hey, what happened?’ he asked the spirit.  

It answered fast, sending back a feeling of confusion, then words. ‘Alone. A long time.’ Then concern and an enquiring feeling.

 _The spirit didn’t know either?_ He had been sick, that he was pretty sure of. Master had helped him, tucked him into bed… Yes. He had definitely been sick.

_Why can’t I remember more?_

A wave of panic struck him and he couldn’t help but to ask out loud the most important thing, “Where is Master?” Or at least he intended to ask those words, but he ended up producing only an odd wheezing sound. His throat was dry and even frantic swallowing didn’t help out much.

“Oh, you are wake! How are you feeling?” the woman asked in return, letting the sticks fall down from her hands and turned to him.

She had brown eyes, and a kind face which was startlingly not covered in lines – not old like the village doctors’ – like Ine-sama’s had been.  

“Tired,” the boy answered, confused. It was easier to answer than to ask. But… he had to know, so,“Master?”

“Oh, you mean your handsome young guardian, Hiko-san? He is outside, waving around that sword of his.”

The feeling of relief was almost overwhelming. 

 _I wasn’t_ _left behind._

 _Or so she said, but what if…_ He just had to be sure, so he tried to feel the Master’s coldness. It wasn’t very hard and he had been practicing it during the travelling times, so he should be able to know for sure if he concentrated… There was the strange woman, further away… nothing? But there… there it was! The sharp coldness – just on the edge of his ability to feel, but definitely there.

The boy sighed, and relaxed.

“Are you hungry?” the strange woman asked.

He was about to nod, but she wasn’t looking at him, rather she was looking at the woven mess of yarn and the sticks that held it together, so he managed a faint, “Yes.”

“Wait a moment, I will warm up some broth for you.”

The boy lay back down and watched the strange woman putter around the cooking area of the hut. She poured something into the kettle, and set it to warm up on the fire crackling softly in the center of the house.

 _If Master left me here and is just outside maybe I can trust this strange woman_ , he relaxed and looked around curiously.

The house was small, with a simple dirt floor. At the sides, straw mats covered the ground. The walls were made out of wood, just like his old home had been, not out of packed mud or stone. The roof was made out of straw, too. There were some belongings and rolled up bedding near the wall. The fire hearth in the middle kept it all warm.

All in all, it felt homey.

It was weird being inside a house, he decided after a while. It had been such a long time. But what made it even weirder was how it was very similar to the houses back home. So alike that it could almost be one of them, just another house in the village near the mountain. Not that it was possible, though. He may not have been sure where his old home  _was_ , but it definitely hadn’t been up north where Master had led them.

The broth in the kettle smelled really good, and somehow smelling it made him realize how very hungry he was. The loud growling noise his stomach let out attested to that, immediately. So, he tried to sit up and did manage it by himself after some struggle.

_I did it!_

He smiled in triumph at this proof that he wasn’t quite as weak as he had been.

The strange woman took the kettle from fire and poured the broth into a bowl, then gave it to him with the words, “You should eat it all. There is more, if you can manage.”

The boy nodded, and drank a tiny sip – it was really good, he realized with widening eyes. He didn’t think he had ever tasted anything so good. So hastily slurping it down as fast as he could, he didn’t mind that it was still hot, scorching on his tongue and throat, in fact, but in a good way.

It warmed him up completely.

The fire crackled merrily in the background while the strange woman watched him and smiled. Then he was done, and gave her the bowl back with a sheepish smile.

“Do you want more?”

He tilted his head, and thought about it. It had been so good, but his stomach felt full to the bursting point.  _Maybe I could manage some more?_

“No. Thank you,” he finally said, avoiding her eyes and playing with the edge of his blanket.

“You sure?”

He nodded.

A frown in answer.

She seemed so disappointed, and for some reason, seemed to demand more for an answer, so, “It was really good, but I don’t think I can eat more.”

“All right, if you say so. But you should try to eat as much as you can. You are terribly thin.”

 _Huh? But I have always been like this…_  but he nodded in answer anyway.

Steps outside, clanking sounds.

_What..?_

_…Oh, it's Master_ –he could recognize that coldness anywhere.

Then the door opened and cold air flowed in.

“Close the door! And do come in, your ward is awake at last.” Her voice seemed happy, and she tilted her head to the side, baring little bit of neck and swept her hair behind her ear.

Master had a funny look on his face, but he didn’t feel angry, rather the swordsman seemed… careful and cautious? Master, cautious? But the swordsman nodded at the woman, face very still and ki oddly small and tight, then glanced at the boy, and said, “I apologize. Kenshin, you had me worried for a while.”  

 _An apology? What is going on? And that odd feel…_ Never before had Master looked or behaved like that. _What does it mean?_

While he had been staring at the swordsman in growing alarm, the strange woman had taken the wooden sticks back into her hands and started weaving the yarn again, the only sound being the steady ticking. Master kicked the last of the snow from his shoes, and barred the door firmly shut. He didn’t look at the woman at all; instead, he laid his sword to lean next to the wall, shook out his cloak then settled down next to the fire, pointedly on the opposite side from the woman.

Kenshin couldn’t help but stare.

Master kept a distance from the woman, and avoided looking at her almost like he was waiting for her to suddenly attack or something. And at the same time, the strange woman was behaving more like Master usually would: being sure of herself, giving orders and expecting people to obey immediately. She just sat there calmly, doing just as she pleased.

It was really weird.

And suddenly, the strange lady didn’t seem so nice and kind anymore. Just how dangerous could she be if even Master was afraid of her?

 _No, not afraid_ , he decided after a brief contemplation. Master could win against a group of bandits, he wouldn’t be afraid of a single woman – but there was something not right with the situation either. He didn’t know what to think, didn’t know anything, really. He didn’t know where they were, how they had gotten here or who the strange woman even was.

Would it be okay to ask?But it was so silent and tense that it didn’t feel okay to speak, but maybe now that Master was here…

Kenshin glanced at the woman, and then back to Master. Tilted his head, waiting.

Master saw it, paused, then cleared his throat. “Kenshin, this is Osumi-san. She has agreed to let us stay until you are better.”

“No. The agreement was that you would stay until the roads were clear. So Hiko-san and you, dear child, will be staying here for a while.” The woman, Osumi-san, smiled brightly at Master and then looked back at the boy, nodding firmly like it was decided.

_Just like that?_

Never stopping in her weaving, she continued decisively. “In any case, it would be madness for you to go back to travelling until the roads clear out.”

Master glanced at her, frowned but  _didn’t_ disagree.

_Has the world gone crazy while I was sick?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 8.9.2015 by BelovedStranger.


	9. How to train your... Dragon

# Chapter 8. How to train your… Dragon

 

The adults wouldn’t let Kenshin out of the hut. Osumi-san said that it would do him no good to go traipsing outside and get sick again. Besides, she added, they were as good as snowed in, so no one would be going far.

Master agreed with her.

Thus, Kenshin was stuck lying on his bed in the hut. He was fed broth ‘til he was getting sick and tired of it. More embarrassingly, Master and Osumi-san also helped him to fulfill his basic needs that he really wasn’t strong enough to handle on his own yet.

At first, the attention and cozy warmth of the hut had felt _wonderful_.   

However, as his energy continued to return and there was absolutely no way to spend it, he began to feel increasingly restless. Even talking to the spirit-friend was difficult now that there was always someone watching him. When he had dared to try, it hadn’t taken long for Osumi-san to notice him just staring ahead blankly, spaced out. She had become worried and sure that he had relapsed into sickness. Which, of course, wasn’t true, but how could he explain that he was just talking to the spirit living inside him?

He couldn’t, it simply wasn’t an option. After all, if Master – who knew about the ki – couldn’t understand the spirit’s existence, how could she?

So Kenshin had tried to brush aside her concern as well as he could, and avoided doing anything too odd ever since. But somehow, the constant attention was beginning to feel oddly  _restricting._   It wasn’t that he disliked the care and attention. But Osumi-san wouldn’t leave the hut for much at all. She just calmly did as she pleased and there was nothing he could do about it, as even Master was careful around her!

Speaking of Master, the older man wasn’t up to helping him either, as the swordsman spent most of the day outside and only returned inside to sit by himself in the corner during the evenings.

It was _annoying_ , that’s what it was.

If only he was healthy again, he could go outside and do something…

During the early evenings, when the sun had already set but it wasn’t late enough to sleep, all three of them were stuck in the small hut together. Mostly, both Kenshin and Master just listened to Osumi-san’s chattering, but every now and then Master would answer her questions and the two would have a short conversation. What made those odd, though, was that the swordsman clearly watched his words around her and didn’t speak his mind. It was oddly similar to the way Master seemed always to be aware of her, how he kept glancing at her covertly.

It could be that Master was just trying to be really polite and that’s why he avoided staring at her, maybe? Mother had always told him that staring was bad manners. But still, somehow Master was taking it to the extreme and never let Osumi-san notice his glances. What was most baffling of it all was that the boy had seen Master looking at her  _neck_  or  _wrists_ , of all things.

It was just weird. 

All this time he had known Master, he had been strong and decisive, always in command and often quite rude. But now, the swordsman was clearly trying very hard to be careful and polite. Why couldn’t he behave like himself? What was the problem? What was it about Osumi-san that made Master so cautious? What power did she have over them?

Kenshin shook his head, sipped his broth in silence and continued to watch the play of mutual tension between the two adults.

On evenings when Master felt more like talking, they resumed the reading and writing lessons on the dirt floor of the hut. Osumi-san followed the lessons and offered comments every now and then, but didn’t really step in or take over, not even when it was clear that she had opinions and seemed to know how to read already.

But what was really, really, awful, was how the lack of exercise and continuous rest brought back his nightmares. Kenshin woke up night after night, screaming of horrors made up of dying people, screams, shouts, Ine-sama selling people, sickness, being a slave again… It made no sense at all, rather, it was like his mind just added all the horrors he had seen this past year and mixedthem  _together_.

One morning, after waking up from a particularly nasty nightmare, Kenshin had curled up crying, heaving up whatever was left in his empty stomach. When he finally calmed down, Osumi-san asked about the nightmares.

He froze in surprise. _She wants to know?_

_Why? It isn’t her business._

_But if…_

And, how could he even tell her? She was – and had been – really kind from the start.But if Master was wary of her, didn’t that imply that she couldn’t be trusted?

Osumi-san didn’t press him for an answer, instead she started preparing breakfast. For a while, Kenshin thought she had let it go. But he really should have realized she really wasn’t the sort of woman to let go of anything she felt to be important.

The very next evening, she asked Master about the nightmares, right in front of him! A feeling of utter betrayal washed over Kenshin, and at that moment, he really felt like he understood why the spirit-friend hated people.

Master glanced at him and frowned. “Nightmares are normal for people who have witnessed horrible events. They will go away in time. Kenshin just needs to stay strong and avoid dwelling on them.”

Osumi-san narrowed her eyes at Master really nastily, and spoke to Kenshin with a soft voice, her eyes radiating concern. “It would help if you talked about them to someone.”

It was that look of concern that made him forgive her, but he still felt stuck, like a grain of rice between the grinding stones. His heart pounded fast in his chest and sweat was starting to gather on his brow when he realized that whatever he did, it would slight the other of the two important adults in his life.

But when he thought about it like that, he realized it was no choice at all. So, feeling a bit apologetic towards her, he said, “Master already knows. They are not new.”

And that was that.

But the thing about being stuck inside the hut – recuperating – was that for the first time in his life, Kenshin was constantly bored. He had absolutely _nothing_ to do. The lessons with letters were wonderful, for they would ease the nothingness somewhat during the evenings, but the days were still driving him crazy.

Maybe it was inevitable that the enforced boredom, combined with a child’s innate curiosity, finally won over the hesitation of talking to and asking questions from this strange new adult in his life. However, Kenshin really wasn’t one to talk about himself. He didn’t want to ask about her life either, because knowing people lead to caring. And what he understood from Master’s behavior, it was clear that as soon as he was able and the weather would let up, they would leave.

Kenshin really didn’t want to let go of the people he cared about, ever again.

So, instead of personal things, he started asking questions relating to what Osumi-san was doing: cooking, cleaning, weaving with her sticks and yarn, and sewing and fixing things.

At first, he curiously watched her and begged to be showed what she did. But as Osumi-san obliged him easily enough, it didn’t take long for him to hesitantly ask if he could help. She told him not to worry about it. There was no obligation to help, for Master was helping her with the outside chores, such as bringing in snow for melting, chopping firewood, fetching things from the shed or cellar.

Kenshin wasn’t deterred, though. Laying about doing nothing felt  _wrong_  and most importantly, he was bored.

In truth, if it was up to him, he would have preferred to help with the outdoor chores, he really would have. They would have gotten him out of the hut. But it was clear that he was stuck inside. This didn’t leave him other options, because no matter how girly, it was something to do.

So, he asked and argued until she taught him to sew.  

Surprisingly, it was actually kind of fun once he got the hang of it. Especially stitching and fixing the holes was neat. There was a funny trick to it; at first he would have to stitch reinforcement around the hole, and then use yarn to sew a replacement patch in place. Not easy, especially at the beginning when all he managed were huge tangles, but the  _challenge_ made it fun.

However, even more interesting was watching Osumi-san cook and asking questions about it. There was a little bit of self-interest there; her food was brilliant and if he could learn to cook, he would never again have to endure food that tasted bad. Besides, it was nice to listen to Osumi-san’s happy answers which fast turned into full blown lessons.

Not that she let him help out much. No matter his persistence, he was only given a few simple tasks to keep his hands busy.

It became clear quickly to him that Osumi-san  _really_  enjoyed cooking and she admitted it, telling him proudly how it was an art form. To her, it didn’t matter that everyone could do it with instructions, because she said that only the real artists could make it into something more.

Having tasted the difference, Kenshin could understand her insistence and pride. He smiled at her and asked to be told more.

She smiled broadly, her ki feeling really warm, and continued her lessons more thoroughly.

The following weeks, Osumi-san showed him how to cook rice so that it wouldn’t burn, how to soften dried meat or fish so that it was tender and tasty, and how to boil root vegetables so that they tasted like they were fresh after harvest. Then came the teachings of common seasonings like salt, soy, sugar, vinegar and ginger and how to use them right. The lessons soon became rather complicated and more like mythical quest for gods’ divine favor in difficulty, but he absorbed what he could from the enthusiastic babble, feeling happier than in ages.

When Master learned what he had been up to, the swordsman scoffed at him dismissively, but  _didn’t_  forbid the ‘womanly and frivolous’ lessons.

But then, when he was deemed well enough, Osumi decided that the time had come to bathe him. Kenshin was stunned – not that he didn’t like being clean – but it was middle of winter! He protested vehemently against the idea. She didn’t relent, but as Master had conveniently disappeared that morning, there wasn’t much he could do to derail her.

Osumi-san seemed to appreciate cleanliness a whole lot more than even mother or old Ine-sama, and the boy really should have realized that it would lead to this craziness, especially as he had seen the way the older woman had washed all of his and Master clothing. But this bathing thing… The circumstances being what they were, the only option was to heat the melted snow water in kettles and then wash inside the house.  _Not_ something that people back at home had done often. Even mother had insisted on it only once last winter.  

But Osumi-san, she didn’t care how slow and pointless it was, or how embarrassing getting bathed was to him. He really was a big boy already and could wash himself. No, none of that mattered to her and she insisted on helping.

Needless to say, there were some arguments voiced about the matter.

However, in the end, Kenshin was clean from the root of his hair to his toes.

After drying him with a towel, Osumi-san fell silent and stared at his red hair that had emerged from under all the travelling grime. She didn’t say anything more, just turned around and went to cook with her ki feeling all funny.

For some reason, it was making him feel really bad and unsure. These days, he had almost forgotten that he was different. But now that she knew, was she going to be like other people and hate him for being different? Dread creeping on him, he dressed in his clean spare kimono and settled down to his bedding to watch her putter around.

She had been so nice, taught him so much… almost like a –

No, not  _that_.

But she had been wonderful.

If she started to hate him for being different, it didn’t matter. He could forgive her for that, he decided. And in any case, he was almost well again, only a little weak. So, if she drove them away now…

It would  _hurt_ , but he and Master would manage just fine.

Then she came back, pulling him from his thoughts. She gave him a bowl of broth to eat and ruffled his hair, whispering softly, almost like she was speaking to herself. “You really are a darling child. It’s not your fault that you were born ugly.”

Feeling utterly relieved, Kenshin smiled at her.

_She doesn’t hate me!_

And she smiled back.

He was forgiven and everything was okay.

 

* * *

 

All in all, life was good.

Well, as good as it could be, considering that the three of them were trapped in a small hut, surrounded by snow and had nowhere to go until the passes opened again. But they managed. Of course, there were arguments and lots of opinions, but that was normal, almost homey. Kenshin was very familiar with living in such conditions. However, unsurprisingly, the one who had most issues with it was Master.

The swordsman really didn’t do enough chores to justify all the time he spent outside.

Curious to what he was doing, Kenshin took up to following the older man’s actions from the slightly opened doorway and tracking his ki to the best of his ability. It seemed that Master was spending most of the days either training or just wandering in the woods. In a way, it was understandable, knowing how the swordsman disliked people, but Kenshin couldn’t help but worry and feel bad for being the reason they were stuck.

However, after he witnessed master’s sword training from a distance, Kenshin started to desperately wish he could go back to training, too. He really wasn’t that weak or sickly anymore, not after all these weeks stuck inside recuperating. So surely it would be possible? The hesitant suggestion during that evening’s meal was met with concerned disapproval by Osumi-san and approval by Master.

She didn’t make much fuss about it. Only a glance at Master before she relented and admitted that Kenshin really was much better and going outside could do him some good.

The very next day, Kenshin was allowed outside for the first time in weeks. He was warned to take it easy, to use only simple strikes, and Osumi-san reminded time after another that he should immediately return inside if he felt weak or cold. He barely heard her when he eagerly put on both of his kimono, pulled the hakama pants over them, tied the fur boots tightly to his feet and wrapped his hands in the mittens. Even the much hated hat didn’t spoil his mood.

He was going outside, finally!

The repeated sword strikes didn’t bore him or feel like a chore. Quite the opposite, actually. It was the very best thing that he had done  _in ages_. Master supervised him until he was done with the exercise, nodded in approval and told him that his form hadn’t suffered much from the enforced rest. However, Kenshin didn’t feel tired yet. He really didn’t want to go back inside either. So he looked at Master hopefully, silently wishing for more.

The swordsman raised his brow in amusement, his ki feeling slightly warm and then he scoffed and showed him a new strike to practice. It was the kesagiri – a downwards slash to the shoulder from the right side. It was accompanied by the reverse strike, which was the same but targeted the left shoulder instead. These, with the first one, the karatake, formed all the basic upper body slashes.

Perhaps Kenshin overdid it a bit, because after he was finished with practice, he was shaking. His joy at being back outside and having new strikes to practice had gotten him too enthusiastic to stop. Master had shaken his head at him and helped him back inside, where Osumi-san had taken a look at him and admonished him for not taking it slow enough.

The meal that night was a weird experience, as Osumi-san told Master that he should really start paying attention to the child’s capabilities and stop treating his student like a miniature adult. This, unsurprisingly, had roused Master’s ire and the swordsman had felt really cold. He had answered that it was not her business how he was training his apprentice.

That was when the argument had truly started.

Osumi-san and Master had yelled at each other for quite some time and then Master had stormed out of the hut. The boy had been scared and tried to hide from the clash of tempers in the corner, trying to curl up really small and staying silent. Osumi-san had huffed and returned to her knitting, and the sounds had slowly calmed him enough for him to fall asleep next to the wall.

The next morning, he had woken up from his bedroll. Master was there and Osumi-san sent him with the swordsman outside for lessons. He did only the three basic strikes until just his arms became tired. Master nodded at him, and ushered him back inside, alone.

That evening, Osumi-san inquired about the practice and then asked him how many strikes he could do.

Kenshin had been baffled at the question, but slightly embarrassedly confessed that didn’t know how to count yet. Osumi-san frowned at him for this, and then asked Master about it. Instead of getting angry like he had been prone to earlier, the swordsman looked away and said that he had been intending to get to it.

Osumi laughed, smiled and whispered quite loudly to Kenshin that it probably meant in Master’s speech that the older man had forgotten.

Then she took his hand in her own, held out the thumb and asked how many it was. Kenshin obediently told her that it was one. Then two fingers – two. They had continued through the hand… and then to the next one, where he admitted that he wasn’t sure what the second finger in his other hand stood for. She smiled at him, and told him it was seven. Next came eight, nine and ten. Then she had showed the first of her fingers and told that together their fingers were eleven.

And that’s how the lesson continued.

Kenshin was surprised that it was so easy. He had always thought that counting was hard, but somehow she could explain it in a way that made sense and made it feel very simple. It also helped that he could look at his fingers and see how the numbers repeated a clear pattern: after nineteen came twenty, and then two one – twenty-one. And after all the numbers in twenties came thirty and three one – thirty-one. So, he smiled happily at her in gratitude.  

Then Osumi-san asked him how old he was.

Kenshin had paused in thought, trying to catch his earliest memory of the summer spent playing with his brothers and then counting the seasons from there. Even with these new numbers, he just… couldn’t be sure. But Osumi-san looked at him in curiosity, and even Master seemed interested, so he finally guessed. “Eight or nine, I think.”

Osumi-san praised him for the answer, saying that he was a smart boy. But then she asked in a conspiring voice, loudly, if he knew how old Master was.

Kenshin didn’t have the faintest idea, but he felt encouraged enough to reason out a loud. “Old, because Master is big and strong.”

Hiko-san scoffed at them, but answered without more prompting, “Not old, twenty-three.”

And Osumi-san grinned like she had won something and declared that she knew it – that no one that handsome would be over thirty. Then Kenshin had gotten curious and asked her age. “Twenty-nine years old and not looking for a husband!” she answered proudly and smiled funnily at the Master.

The swordsman reddened a bit and looked away. Kenshin didn’t understand; what did the husband bit have to do with anything?

But for some reason, it did hold some meaning, because after that, Master wasn’t so wary of her anymore. He even relaxed a little in her company and took to staying near the hut and inside more often.

Osumi-san would smile at Master during the meals, ask if he wanted to have more. Master would politely decline, but he felt bit warmer, like he wasn’t so annoyed anymore. The evening conversations and lessons grew to include all three of them, so that both the adults would attempt to teach him or just tell stories to pass the time. There weren’t so many arguments anymore, and Master didn’t so pointedly avoid Osumi-san, either. Rather, he had started to talk to her more warmly and would occasionally glance at her neck or wrist, openly.

Curiously, Osumi-san didn’t take offense, but just smiled when she noticed the looks.

Kenshin felt better and stronger day by day. Master would show him new strikes and told him to run in the snow to get rid of his excess energy. Osumi-san didn’t scold Master for that. She also suggested to Kenshin that he should practice his counting by counting the sword strikes. It seemed like a fun idea. It wasn’t exactly easy, but when he got to a number he didn’t know yet, Master would tell him what it was.

And like that, Kenshin learned all the tens, and then ten and ten which was one hundred. He proudly told of this achievement to Osumi-san; he had managed hundred repetitions of all the three different sword strikes! She smiled at him softly which made him feel really good.

Then of course, Master showed him more strikes.

 

* * *

The days fell into a rhythm. And day by day, Master started to feel warmer. There was this weird tension now between him and Osumi-san. She would smile and tease Master, and the swordsman would sometimes even answer to the barbs with a few of his own. It was almost like being back in the mountain village with his family. But Master wasn’t like father and Osumi-san wasn’t like mother. They didn’t treat Kenshin like he was their son, either.

But somehow they fit together.

Then one day Kenshin was playing in the snow. He had asked if it was okay to do so after practice, because now the sun had melted it a bit and he wanted to build something. Master had given him permission but hadn’t stayed to watch; instead, he had headed back inside.

Kenshin rolled balls out of snow and piled those on top of each other. Master’s coldness was there in the hut, but it didn’t feel exactly cold anymore. Maybe he should take to calling it ki, like Master did?

Speaking of coldness, he hadn’t tried talking with his spirit-friend in a while. Hadn’t had a chance to do so. This neglect sat ill on Kenshin’s conscience, so now that he had some alone time, it was a good chance to do something about it. So, he poked at the coldness to alert the spirit, and then started explaining things. The spirit was a little bit cold to him at first, but after he had shown it memories of what had happened these couple months, they were okay again.

Well, almost.

The spirit was especially interested in the sword strikes, and though it didn’t exactly seem to like Osumi-san, it didn’t want to be nasty to her, either. No, for some reason, the spirit felt _happy_ about speaking with him.

 _Maybe it has been feeling lonely?_ Kenshin pondered, and guiltily resolved to figure out a way to speak to his friend more often and not to abandon it so. After all, he knew how bad it was to be alone and he didn’t wish it on anyone, least of all to the spirit friend who had helped him so much.

The snow was easy to mold and he started to build a small hut out of the snowballs. Master’s ki trickled weirdly in the hut; he had never felt it move like that. However, it didn’t feel bad. So he didn’t pay any mind to it and concentrated on more important things, namely his building project.

After finishing the snow hut, it felt too early to stop so he started to build some snow people to live in it.

It was really nice to play like this, Kenshin thought, and he could feel the ideas starting to flow; what the snow people did for their living, imagining names for them, what roles would they play… This was what he had always done with his brothers when they were starting to play.

It felt unaccountably good, so he smiled and explained the game to the spirit so it could help him out. Then, together they started to re-act one of the children’s fairytales – well, it started like that but soon changed to include the swordsman-son, rescuing the neighbors from the bandits. And while the spirit was little bit slow on the uptake, how to include new twists in the play, and Kenshin had to move the pieces by himself, it didn’t matter.

They were playing together and it was  _wonderful._

The game continued on and on, and was interrupted by the Master’s loud shout. “Come in, Kenshin, you need to eat!”

Looking at the setting sun, it was clear that Kenshin had been out playing for a really long time. It hadn’t felt like it, truly. But Master had been inside all that time? With Osumi-san?  _Without_ arguing?

And now that he noticed, Master looked odd, almost happy. His ki felt calm… nearly relaxed.

That  _was_  odd.

But not very important, not compared to what he had managed to build out of snow. Kenshin looked at his project, and then glanced at Master, who seemed like he wouldn’t mind humoring him for a bit, so…

“Master, come look what I made!”

The swordsman came without more prompting, and nodded approvingly at his snow building, the people, the neighbor’s house, the horses…

And at that moment, Kenshin felt like everything was right in the world.

 

* * *

One night, Kenshin woke up to quiet murmuring voices.

It was Master and Osumi-san, but they were laying on the  _same_ bedroll? Started, he tried to listen to what they were saying. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t make out the words. He was dismayed, until he suddenly remembered the trick with coldness that the spirit-friend had shown him earlier.

Now, at the slightest prodding, the spirit friend was eager to help him again.

Maybe it had been bored, too? Well, he could do something about that later, definitely. He just needed to figure out more ways to use the spirit.

But for now, he really wanted to know what Master and Osumi-san were doing.

So, he pushed a drop of coldness to ears.

“… and then, two years ago my husband died. It’s been lonely up here without him.”

“Hmmmph. It shows.”

“I wasn’t that bad! It’s just that the opportunity doesn’t come by often… let alone in such a  _nice_  package.”

“Come here. And you were exactly that bad and you know it, woman.”

Small laugh.

“Maybe so… Why are you alone, then?”

“Hmmm. My Master died. I have been travelling alone since, looking to fulfill my duty to his teachings and the sword of Mitsurugi.”

“Oh. So that’s why…”

The noises cut out all of sudden, but Kenshin’s ears didn’t hurt yet. The spirit pushed him a bit, send a petting feel.  _‘Go ahead. Do it again,’_  it seemed to say.

Another drop.

“….thank god the night terrors have finally eased off. He’s a darling boy, your Kenshin. He seems to be a good student.”

“He is. Staying in one place has been good for him, made it easier for him to focus on learning.”

“And that surprises you? Children need stability. It goes without saying that they would learn faster when not trying to keep up with their Master’s traipsing around the countryside.”

“Hmmph. No. But I have a duty.”

“You have a duty to that boy, too.”

“True.”

“At least consider it. The roads will clear out soon and I guess there are advantages for training on the road. Experience is the best teacher, and summer is a good season for it. But try to figure out better options for the next winter.”

“Hmmm…. I could go to my Master’s old house.”

“Why don’t you?”

“The old bastard keeps looking over my shoulder from the grave.”

“Ah. They have a habit of doing that….”

Silence. Again. But his ears were starting to ache and the adults didn’t speak about anything interesting. Master’s ki felt relaxed and almost happy, his voice was warm. Kenshin had never heard him speak in such a tone, and he didn’t want to interrupt them… so maybe it was okay. He still didn’t know why they were sharing a bedroll, but it didn’t seem important. Maybe Osumi-san had been feeling cold and Master had let her sleep at his side?

Yes, it made sense.

With that, Kenshin curled to his side, and touched his top hidden in his shirt sleeve. It was nice.

 

* * *

The weather had turned warmer and Osumi-san said that spring was coming. Kenshin had been given new things to train with the sword – they were called Kata, and they were a series of moves like dancing. Master had shown him the first one and it had been almost beautiful to watch. And then they had been doing them together really slowly. He felt clumsy compared to Master, but then again, there was a reason why Master was the Master.

What was baffling was that he wouldn’t get tired so easily. The sword didn’t weigh so much anymore and he could practice longer. Or maybe it was just that he had grown stronger? It didn’t show, though. He was still really small and thin.

He hadn’t managed to keep talking to the spirit much, not even a way to use the spirit more. It made him feel guiltier. He knew exactly how horrible it was to be bored and lonely. It wasn’t something anyone should suffer, least of all his friend. Not if he could do something about it.

About the only chance he had to use spirit was to listen in to the adults’ conversation. However, he really didn’t feel doing it often. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because Master and Osumi-san never talked about anything interesting? The little bits and pieces he had heard had been all about people they had known, about things they could remember. Only topic even remotely interesting was their talk of him, but that, too, became boring because they talked about children and how children should be raised. They argued about a lot of things. But it didn’t sound like they were angry, no. It was just that they didn’t agree on things.

It resembled Kenshin’s and the spirit’s arguments, really.

However, one day that he was back outside with Master, practicing kata, someone new came to visit; a man, not too old and dressed warmly in nice enough clothes. He demanded Master to explain who they were and where was Osumi-san.

Master answered calmly that Osumi-san was inside, and if the man had business with her, he could find her there.

The man looked at Master nastily, but went inside.

“Keep practicing, Kenshin,” Master said then and followed the stranger to the hut.

Of course, this being the first  _interesting_  thing to happen in ages, Kenshin stopped his practice and curiously sneaked closer to the hut, trying to catch the faint sounds of adult talk that penetrated the hut’s wooden walls.

He drew a drop of coldness to his ears….

“…It’s not right for a woman to live alone like this. Your proper place is in the village. Of course, it would be more practical if you joined another household.”

“And I suppose your family would happen to have a place for me, Ichiro-san?”

“As it happens, yes. You know I am properly married, but neither my father nor my brother have a spouse, at the moment. They have good houses and a steady income. Your skills would be respected and you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“Ichiro-san… I thank you for your kindness, but I have to refuse. I am not looking to remarry.”

“But think about your status, and your lifestyle. This seclusion of yours isn’t right. And Masashi wouldn’t have wanted you to live like this. Please, let us help you, Osumi-san.”

“No, thank you. I have made my decision. I would prefer for you to leave now.”

“You have no options, Osumi-san. You don’t have much more left of what Masashi left you! Your reputation is in danger. And living here with that vagabond and that foreign brat? Are you seeking to destroy what remains of your good name?”

“The lady said no. You should honor her will.”

“Please leave, Ichiro-san.”

“This is madness, Osumi-san! You spit on my kindness!”

Silence. A thud. The door of the hut was slammed open, and the strange man stormed out. He looked really angry, his face was all red and he was breathing heavily.

“This isn’t the last you hear of me, woman!” he shouted to the hut.

Kenshin couldn’t help but to stare. 

 _What was that about? Why can’t Osumi-san live by herself?_  He frowned and looked after the angry man storming away from Osumi-san’s lands.

“I told you to practice your Kata, Kenshin.”

 _Eeeep!_ Kenshin froze and looked up at Master, who was frowning at him. Desperately, he tried to save the situation by yelping, “Yes, Master!”

Master sighed. “Don’t stress your mind about all that. Just focus on your training.” He then returned inside.

He was curious, of course, but he really didn’t want to be caught again. Especially not now that Master had sounded strained, like he was worried about something.

Still, returning to the basic kata once more, he tried to figure out the conversation he had overheard. He shared the memory with the spirit as well. It thought that the strange man had wanted Osumi-san for something.

It wasn’t that he didn’t agree. But what could it be? Osumi-san was really kind and a good cook… But why had that man been so insistent?

* * *

That night, Kenshin only pretended to go to sleep. He didn’t want to miss Master’s and Osumi-san’s conversation that would surely happen again tonight. But he didn’t want to be caught listening in again, so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe steadily like he would have if he really was asleep. Osumi-san puttered around the house and Master stayed in his corner… but then, sometime later, his patience was rewarded when Osumi-san went to bed.

It didn’t take long for Master to join her on the futon. They did something together. Kenshin really didn’t have any idea what, but it had Master puffing as if working really hard, and Osumi-san made odd noises, too, like she was trying to be quiet. It took a while, but then, exactly like before, Master’s ki grew warm and relaxed. The blankets rustled and they fell silent. But only a moment later the steady murmur of voices started.

So Kenshin focused and drew a drop of coldness to his ears.

“… So you are leaving soon?”

“Yes. The spring is coming on fast.”

“I will miss you. It has been nice to have polite company.”

“Will there be problems with that Ichiro fellow?”

“He has wanted me to marry into his family for ages. It’s disgusting, really. He would offer any adult male from his clan to me. I think he already has, actually. He is getting desperate, but I can handle it. I have handled it since Masashi passed away.”

“Why is Ichiro so insistent?”

“Because of my father. He is a proper Samurai, as you know… but he has no heirs but me.”

“Ah. And he is wealthy?”

“Yes. It all comes down to money, in the end. I ran away from it all; fell in love with Masashi, who liked me for me and my cooking, not for my family connections and money. Father didn’t approve. However, he has not yet adopted anyone and I am still his only heir. It’s disgustingly simple…”

The silence landed.

 _So that’s why Master was worried._ Kenshin frowned in thought. He had gotten answers, yes, but he still wanted to know more, so…

 “…That’s why I like you. You don’t care about any of it. And you have run away from it, too.”

“I have?”

“Hiko Seijuuro. Or whoever you are. You were born to good blood and name. It’s clear to anyone who uses their eyes. But you, too, have seen too much and didn’t like what you saw, so you let go. Am I not right?”

“Hmmph. I should have known. You see much, woman.”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing, I guess. It’s not like they can force me.”

“But they can make your life difficult. And it’s not easy, living alone. How will you get by?”

“I have been practicing to be a seamstress in the village. And I have my cooking.”

“Those skills are not worth much in a small village like this. Most of the women can sew; not many have need or want for good clothing. No opportunity to sell your cooking here, either.”

“What would you have me do? Marry that slime?”

Silence, again. Kenshin gritted his teeth. He still wanted to know more. It wasn’t fair that Osumi-san was in trouble! But his ears had started hurting. But maybe once more…

“… I guess I could go back to Matsue, to my father. He hasn’t cut ties with me yet, as far as I know. But travelling there won’t be easy. It’s one of the reasons why I haven’t done it already. It’s not like I have reason to stay here.”

“So it’s settled.”

“What’s settled? The roads are crawling with bandits… I have a household here!”

“You will be coming with us. We will escort you to Matsue.”

“You will, huh?” Laugh. “Just like that?”

“Of course.” Scoff. “You have offered us your hospitality all winter; it’s the least I can do to repay your kindness.”

“How chivalrous. But alright.”

 

* * *

 

 

Osumi-san had started going through her possessions and taking aside things that she didn’t want to leave behind. Master hadn’t commented on it or told Kenshin about it. Instead, he tried to behave like he didn’t know what was going on with them. Not even when they would discuss food and supplies and watch the weather. Still, no matter that he wasn’t supposed to know the details, it would have been obvious that something was happening.

So, one day he couldn’t handle it anymore and asked Osumi-san why she was going through her stuff.

“I will leave with you,” she answered and smiled.

“It’s not like you didn’t know, Kenshin,” Master remarked from the wall.

_…what?_

“You have been eavesdropping on our conversations. I finally realized it.”

Kenshin felt stunned.  _How did Master know? Is he angry? Why hasn’t he said anything about it earlier?_

“What I am curious about, is how you do it. It isn’t possible to hear low-voiced conversations from that distance. Or… it _shouldn’t_ be.”

 _No, no…_ He began to shake in fright.

Master’s ki felt calm, but cold. It didn’t seem like he was angry, but his face was drawn into a tight frown and he didn’t feel happy at all. It was far worse than shouting, and Kenshin couldn’t handle it any longer. “The coldness! Just a drop to ears and I hear better. Can’t do it for long, it hurts.”

Master scoffed, raised his brow in surprise. “You use ki to enhance your hearing?”

He nodded, still terrified. He was desperately hoping that Master wouldn’t look so disappointed in him, wouldn’t get angry about his curiosity.

“When did you start to do it? How did you even think of such a thing? Are you stupid? You could kill yourself with that! Or lose your hearing! Idiot student!” Master’s ki began to bear down on him, pressuring him to answer.

“I…. I….”

What could he say? He couldn’t tell Master of his spirit-friend. Master didn’t believe in spirits, he had said so himself!  _Master will think me crazy if I tell him about the spirit-friend... and it was the spirit’s idea. But it’s wrong to lie. No. No. No._  The boy shook.  _What can I do?_

“Hiko! Don’t scare the boy! He is obviously terrified!”

“Quiet. This is serious. He could seriously harm himself doing this.”

He tried to keep breathing, tried to think. _I don’t want to lie. I’m not a bad boy, but… but…_

“I was curious. I wanted to listen to you and Asano-san,” he then managed to tell, and it was a truth, just not all of it.

Masters ki retreated.

Kenshin took a deep breath, feeling relieved. It had been enough, barely.

“So begun this after you met me, but didn’t tell of this development to me? Didn’t you think that it would be something that I, as your Master, should know about?” 

_Master sounds… disappointed?_

Kenshin shuffled his feet, avoiding the adult’s gaze guiltily. He hadn’t meant to disappoint; he just didn’t think that he should speak of the coldness to anyone.

  _It isn’t something I can tell others. It’s not normal._   _But, but… Master has coldness, too. Maybe he can use it, too? Like me?_

“You said that you would teach me swords. I…. didn’t think that you would want to know about the coldness,” he finally whispered shyly. He felt really bad, ashamed.

A scoff.

“Idiot student.”

It was like Master’s disappointed tone somehow made the words cut even deeper. Kenshin didn’t think he had felt this bad since the sickness and slavers.

“In the future, you will tell me what you do with ki. You won’t try anything new without supervision.”

He nodded.

“And I mean it, Kenshin. This is something that could seriously harm you.”

He dared a glance at Osumi-san. She, too, looked scared and disappointed.

“Also, it’s impolite to listen to words not meant for your ears. You should apologize. To me, but especially to Osumi-san.”

Master didn’t feel so cold. And his voice sounded strange. Kenshin dared a quick look through his slashes. The swordsman had an odd look in his face, and somehow it reminded him a bit of what his father had looked like, when Mother had told him that she had a baby in her stomach. And suddenly, he realized what it was. Pride. Master was proud of him. Worried, scared, angry and disappointed, yes. But also proud of what Kenshin had managed to do with the coldness.

He swallowed, and then whispered, “I’m sorry… Master, Osumi-san.”

“Good. Now promise you won’t do such a stupid thing again.”

“I promise.”

Then Master ruffled his hair, and he felt like he was forgiven.

 

* * *

 

 

The snow had almost melted from the roads leading down from the mountains to the west coast. They had reached Matsue in two week’s travel time, fairly fast all in all. Of course, Hiko would have made it alone in just a few days. Even with Kenshin accompanying him, it would have been much faster than this.

The boy  _was_  growing stronger.

But they had been escorting Osumi-san and had to carry some of her most precious possessions, so the delay was perfectly understandable.  

She had given them all the food supplies they could ever want and replaced some of the worst worn clothing with new ones she had made during the quiet winter months. What was interesting to notice, though, was that she would have given them these as a gift no matter what. This realization made it easier for Hiko to accept her generosity.

He had his pride, after all.

They hadn’t seen or heard more of that Ichiro fellow, but then again, they had left only a few short days after the man had come to spout out his rude demands. It hadn’t made sense to wait, and having already decided the travel plan, it had been difficult for all of them to return to the peaceful harmony necessary for living in such tight quarters.

Truthfully, Hiko hadn’t believed he was even capable of staying in one place for such a long time, not after all what had happened to him. He had been wandering for years, being sure of just that. But then, when it had been clear that either he would have to leave Kenshin behind or learn to ignore his own discomfort, it hadn’t been a clear choice.

Osumi-san hadn’t made it too easy on him though, what with her constant flirting and not so subtle smiles. He had no intention of settling down. Family wasn’t for men with duty like his. But then, Osumi-san had pinpointed the core of his reluctance, and changed her tone, clearly telling him that she had no intention of marriage… it wasn’t a difficult decision. He did enjoy women. He had just wanted to let her work at it. It was no good to let women know that they had won, already. It would only serve to make them impossible to deal with later.

And then there had been the brat’s stunt with ki. Hiko had never seen anything like it, hadn’t ever seen the spiritual energy used in such a way, either.

But retrospectively, he should have realized it earlier.

The pieces had been there all along; the incident with Asano and running away, but at that time, Hiko hadn’t paid too much attention to it. And adding the fact that Asano had been convincing him for days and Kenshin had been going in and out of the camp with chores, so it had been possible that he could have heard of the things normally.

And the boy’s ki was almost always moving when they travelled. Only at Osumi-san’s place it had been growing calm. Hiko hadn’t known what to make of it, but hadn’t believed it to be a problem. After all, the annoying “head in the clouds” habit had faded away, too. But then he had caught the brat abandoning the training, ignoring his instructions and skulking near the hut.

He had been immediately suspicious.

Then next night the boy had been faking sleep. Hiko hadn’t realized it at the time, but had checked his memory later on the next day, when the boy had been so clearly watching Osumi’s packing; stared at her, kept looking at Hiko…

It was obvious then that the boy knew things that he shouldn’t have.

So, Hiko had done what any Master would have done and found out how. Listening to the brat’s explanation had stunned him, really. Roused his anger, too. But also his pride. It was a clear sign that he had been right to pick up the boy as an apprentice – Kenshin would be perfect. Already breaching the limits of known ki-usage! A fitting legacy for Hiten Mitsurugi, and in the future, for Hiko Seijuurou the 13th.

He would have to find out what more the boy could do with ki, but later.

They reached the castle town of Matsue without problems and escorted Osumi-san to her father’s house. Hiko was surprised to learn that Osumi was the daughter of Shiomi family. And what she had been describing as some money actually meant  _rich_. Not that it mattered to Hiko. He had seen wealth and walked away from it. But it was still surprising to realize that he had been sharing a hut and a futon with a  _lady_. She just winked at him when they had made it to the residence next to Matsue castle in the Samurai district and asked from him, “Still not interested in marriage?”

He smirked at her and countered, “Why, are you offering, woman?”

And that had been that.

They met with her father, Isamu, at the gates of the large household. The samurai was an older gentleman with a quick wit, calm demeanor and sly look in the corner of his eye. He welcomed Osumi-san home like a man who had almost believed he had lost his chance, and then in gratefulness asked for the swordsman and his apprentice to stay and enjoy their hospitality for the night.

Kenshin had been in a constant wide-eyed state since they had reached the samurai district of the old town, looking so ridiculous that it was almost funny. The boy’s awkwardness had only grown worse at the rich house, as he clearly had no idea how to behave around the servants and blatant wealth. After seeing all that gawking, Hiko quickly resolved to start teaching the brat some proper manners. It wouldn’t do for his apprentice to behave like a country bumpkin.

Thankfully, Isamu-san was amused, not offended, by the boy. It was probably because of Osumi-san’s clear fond regard of Kenshin over anything else, though.

That evening, the older Samurai asked Hiko to join him for sake. They settled down to drink the warmed fine rice wine in the study, where the old man quickly proceeded to thank Hiko once more for bringing his daughter back home safely. The polite conversation had started from there, but over the course of seemingly benign discussion, the samurai subtly managed to guide the discussion to inquire about Hiko’s and Osumi’s relationship.

A clever tactic, which made it clear that no matter how accepting and kind the old samurai seemed, he was a dangerous man still. Not someone Hiko wished to have as an opponent, not at all. So Hiko had made it clear, as politely but firmly as possible, that he had no intention of settling down and neither had she. And pushing the matter would only serve to drive her away.

The old samurai had just nodded, seemingly satisfied.

But then, just as Hiko thought he had managed to avoid all the pitfalls, Isamu-san made an offhand remark in a low voice, “I was acquainted with Hiko Seijuuro the 12th. It has been years, since… but I have heard well of his apprentice.” 

Needless to say, Hiko had paused, utterly startled. Immediately, he had started to find a polite escape from the situation, as he had absolutely no intention of staying near any of the old Bastard’s contemporaries.

However, the samurai just continued, seemingly like he hadn’t seen Hiko’s reaction. “White Death has also done good work clearing the woods and roads of outlaws, taking down dangerous men. But it is surprising to see him to take a student, especially this early.”

The criticism was clear in the seemingly benign words, as was the silent comparison to the Bastard. Inwardly, Hiko’s temper flared. Just as well, he had no intention to be anything like his Master, and he answered testily, “The boy is a rare diamond in a rough. I don’t question the plans of fates and gods.”

With those words, he had excused himself, and retired to the guest room assigned to him and Kenshin. It might have been rude beyond all the good manners that had been instilled in him since his youth, but frankly, Hiko didn’t give a damn. No one had the right to criticize him or compare him to the old Bastard, not even this rich and influential old Samurai, who also happened to be Osumi’s father.

They left early next morning. Osumi was there to see them of, and she hugged Kenshin, telling the boy to take care of himself. Then she had taken Hiko to the side, and told him to come see her if they ever wandered to Matsue again.

He smirked at her, his gaze lingering on her lips for a moment too long in answer.

She smiled,  _just so_  and flashed the skin of her pale swan neck in return by tilting her head.

 _‘What a minx,’_ Hiko thought fondly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 23.10.2015 by BelovedStranger.


	10. The bitter taste

# Chapter 9. The bitter taste

 

 _One by himself…. three in the west... and eight… no, nine at the base camp. And one more moving in fast._ The first flickered out and all of a sudden the lot in the middle started to move, their shouts echoing in the distance so that even he could hear them.

Kenshin cringed, hating the shouting.  

It was sweltering hot as the summer sun bore hotly above the treetops and kept heating the air. The mosquitoes kept circling him and idly, he swatted at one that was biting him. It died just as easily as the little flickers of ki presences, disappearing one by one in the distance.

He still didn’t like this, but where Master went he followed. And as Master had explained time after another, he had a duty to protect the happiness of common people.

So would Kenshin, one day, as a practitioner of Hiten Mitsurugi style swordsmanship.

It was just that occasionally he couldn’t understand how killing people would protect the happiness of common people. He had even asked about it, but Master had said that people who had abandoned their livelihoods to rob and plunder from others had no right to live. That by killing some, like the weeds in a garden, the good and ordinary people wouldn’t suffer so much. After all, they already had a hard life with the “increased taxation, foreign demands and economic instability.”

So whenever they would encounter bandits in their travels, Master would take the time to “clean” the camps. 

And…

 _“The sword is a weapon. The art of swordsmanship is the art of killing. This is the truth. You know this Kenshin.”_  That was the truth, but still…

To make things worse, seeing people die occasionally brought back the living memories of Kasumi’s death and the massacre. Master had said that they would pass on their own with time, just like most of the regular nightmares had. However, the living memories scared and unsettled Kenshin, and there had been a few more incidents with bedwetting. It was beyond embarrassing, even shameful, but Master had just ignored the incidents, leaving him alone to wash his soiled clothing and bedding.

On those mornings, Kenshin usually felt really bad and truly he would have appreciated the comfort Osumi-san had offered. Her caring warmth had soothed him. However, now that they were travelling with just the two of them again, it just wasn’t possible. Master just wasn’t the type of person to hug and make it all better.

Especially not now, as the swordsman seemed colder. Perhaps Master missed Osumi-san as well?

So maybe it was just natural that Kenshin turned to the spirit-friend in search of comfort and caring. Helpfully, it had reminded him of the warm things making up the wall separating them. So, slowly, when he felt like he needed the reassurance of warm comforting feelings and memories, he had taken to widening the hole in the wall.

It had an additional use of being good for training, now that Master had begun teaching him to use coldness – ki – to better sense people. And doing that was easier when he had more coldness in his side of the wall to use.

However, he hadn’t continued to take down the wall too often, because first of all, it was a really tiring effort. Secondly, Kenshin had noticed that when he removed the pieces of the wall they would  _disappear._

It was a little bit frightening, in truth.

While the making of the wall felt good, they were also memories. And though they weren’t particularly important memories, Kenshin didn’t like losing them. So, he had reasoned to touch them and widen the gap in the wall only when it was needed.

However, despite the bad and unsettling things, learning to wield the sword was fun. Kenshin liked the thought of growing strong like Master. Then he, too, could protect the people and no one could ever take away the people he cared about.

During these spring and early summer months they had been travelling again, Master had taught him two more katas and had begun to spar with him. Well, it was more like Master would tell him to attack, and when he did, Master would swat him away like a fly. But it was fun. It was something _new_ and it felt more real than the endless repetitions of basic strikes and dance-like katas.   

“How many have you counted, Kenshin?”

 _Eeeep!_   _Master is back!_ Kenshin scrambled up from the soft forest floor where he had been lying, hiding.

_How many was...? Ah, ah – there was that one, and three and nine, so that made…_

“Thirteen!”

And Master nodded. “Correct. You are getting more accurate. You even noticed the three on the west end of the camp this time.” With those words, the older man turned and started trekking back to the road through the forest.

 _Master feels warm._ Kenshin gaped, his mouth hanging open.

It felt like approval. A smile rose to his lips and he rushed to follow. For that warm feel and nod, he would do everything and anything.

Master walked ahead with long strides as he always did, but despite the dry and hardened roadside, he hardly made any noise. It was the same, no matter where he walked. It was curious and Kenshin had been trying to copy it, because it seemed a really cool thing. And maybe, someday, he could surprise Master too, and not always be the startled one.

They reached the road after a mile or so, and headed eastward. Master had said that they were travelling to Bizen domain for the moment. He hadn’t mentioned why, but he hardly ever explained his reasoning to Kenshin, so that was nothing new.

To be perfectly honest, Kenshin was quite certain that the swordsman didn’t know why either, that he would just go where he felt like going. It didn’t seem to be a useful way to travel, but then again because of it, Kenshin was constantly seeing new places. They would stop at villages to restock, and when the money was running low, Master would find work.

They made camp near sunset like usual. Master made the fire, leaving Kenshin to root around their supplies, looking for kettle and rice. For a while now, Kenshin had been trying to learn to cook for them. Of course, he made mistakes all the time, burned the rise or committed other embarrassing errors, but Master didn’t comment on it much. It wasn’t out of kindness or tact, thought, but because the older man wasn’t any better at it, really.

On the other hand, thanks to Osumi-san’s lessons, Kenshin had some idea how to get better. Still, despite the fact that he had kind of grown to like cooking, occasionally he couldn’t help but miss Osumi-san and her food.

After the meal, Master started to write a short text on the ground. This was a new development in Kenshin’s reading lessons. Master would write out something for him to attempt to figure out. Apparently, the swordsman was of the opinion that if he had been listening, he should be able to recognize quite a few of the common picture words by now.

The texts that Master wrote were always short and weird. But for some reason when Kenshin stopped to think on them, they always seemed to contain some message, some piece of wisdom or observation. It felt like Master was testing him. But also, on some days, the texts seemed to have no point at all but to sound good when read out loud or to be beautiful. So, though, it was tricky to make sense of them, Kenshin had come to enjoy the challenge of it.

It was like a game of riddles. 

The one that he was at the moment trying to solve sounded more like of the pretty sort.  _Spirit... Water. Sea. Light…_

“What does this one mean?”

“Firefly.”

 _Huh, Firefly? Okay then… Time. Peace._  It took him a while to figure out all the letters, but when he did, it was easier to figure out the meaning out loud.

“Spirit like water in sea… lights of fireflies end, time for peace.”

The first line sounded a bit familiar, but then again, Kenshin was quite familiar with spirits. And he had always felt like the coldness was similar to water.  _But, if spirit is like water and everything has a spirit, wouldn’t the coldness feel more like the sea?_

 _But some people, especially men with weapons, can feel really bright with their coldness, almost like a light in anger._  Now that Kenshin thought about it, it was almost exactly like fireflies would look like when flying above a lake in the evening.

 _End - like killed? Time for peace? But that’s what Master did today! He killed the angry lights in the sea of coldness for peace!_ Kenshin smiled, happy in realization. “It’s an observation of what happened today.”

Master nodded, and asked with a low rumble, “You didn’t have any living memories today, Kenshin?”

“No, not today,” Kenshin answered readily enough. He had learned to trust Master and tell him of these things when asked.  

And it wasn’t like he would get scared nowadays of just feeling with the ki how the bandits died. He knew what was happening, and while he still had trouble accepting the idea of killing, he kinda understood why Master was doing it. It was for a good purpose.

Helping people was a good thing.

Besides, it wasn’t killing, exactly, that caused the living memories, but more like…

“It’s the smell of blood. Screams, shouts.” Kenshin tried to explain it out loud. “I didn’t see much then, so just seeing it happen doesn’t remind me so badly or even hurt that much, but… When I hear the shouts or smell the blood, it just brings it right back.”

“Hmm. You will get used to it in time, but it’s not something to hurry with,” Master conceded. “Alright, let me see your third Kata. It may be time to teach you a new one. Did you get tired with ki earlier?”

“Not really.”

And with those words, Kenshin stood up and picked up his sword, and started to go through the latest kata. He really wanted to get to a new one already.

 

* * *

 

 

In the middle of the summer, early in the seventh month, Master took him to a waterfall and declared that they would camp there for a while. When Kenshin asked why, the only answer he had gotten to justify this odd development was that Master felt that it was a good training spot.

For what training the shallow pond, slow river and waterfall could be any good for was unclear. Well, before Master had ordered Kenshin to spar with him.

The cool water had felt really good against the bare skin, constantly sweaty from the scorching sun. But sparring in the water?

After a short while, it felt like Kenshin’s legs were made from lead!

And Master just smirked. “Your arms have gotten stronger and you have good stamina, but your legs need some strength, too. This will help with that.”

That explained why they were suddenly stopping during the best time for getting work and gathering travel funds. Kenshin felt a bit touched, really. He shouldn’t forget that Master did care, in his own way.

It was all because of that one discussion, when he was told straight that he couldn’t _ever_ learn to fight exactly like Master.  

Master had shaken his head before remarking thoughtfully, “You are small, and I doubt that you will ever gain enough mass or strength to overpower most men, so it doesn’t make any sense to teach you my style. No. At heart, Hiten Mitsurugi is about ki and how to use it as a tool to strengthen the attacks. The basic swordsmanship is always taught to suit the apprentice. My style is for strength. Obviously, it won’t suit you. No, we will need to find a way to use your size to your advantage. The most logical solution to that is speed.”

Back then, Kenshin had wondered about the words quite a bit. Master’s opinion wasn’t very nice and it hurt… but he could understand it, a bit. After all, big and strong boys would grow to be big strong men, everybody knew that and he just wasn’t like that. If there was a way for him to be a good swordsman, he would learn it. He wouldn’t be weak _, never_ again _._

_No. I will grow strong, to protect people just like Master... that’s a dream worth fighting for._

So they sparred in the water. When Kenshin couldn’t move any more, Master would have him do repetitions of basic strikes under the waterfall. He would go to sleep utterly exhausted, every muscle screaming in protest.

Week after week, every day was filled with hard work and exercise.

But no matter how hard Kenshin worked, Master would scowl. Even before, the swordsman hadn’t been an easy man to please… but during the training at the waterfall, it became an impossible task to gain Master’s approval.

It worried him, if he was perfectly honest. He had been working as hard as he could, doing repetitions until he simply couldn’t anymore, never slacking, never complaining…

So one late summer evening, he finally managed to win his hesitations and asked the swordsman about it. Master frowned, ki growing oddly still… but then answered frankly, “You should have gotten faster by now, even if only a slightest amount. To be an effective swordsman, you will need to be a lot faster than others. Training in the water should help with that, but it doesn’t seem to work. Not well enough.”

With those words, Master rose and left him alone with his thoughts.

Kenshin retired early, mind filled with doubts and fears. No matter how he tried to avoid thinking bad things, they just seemed to pile up. If there was something in the world he wanted to avoid, it was disappointing Master. But if the hard training wasn’t working, maybe it was because he was  _different_  and simply couldn’t become what Master wished?

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise that the nightmares filled his sleep after that. This time, though, they were of villagers calling him  _useless_ , bad luck, foreigner, different, of their disapproving gazes and even being sold again.

When he woke up, he had wet the bed.

It only served to make him feel even worse. Why was he such a disappointment? No matter what he did, he was always too weak, just an odd foreigner, a crybaby that couldn’t even sleep like normal people.

He  _knew_  that Master wouldn’t abandon him.

If Master wanted to get rid of him, he would have already done that. No. Master had promised that Kenshin was his student, and if the training didn’t work, he would figure out another way for him to get better. That was what Master did; if there was a problem, he would solve it.

Or so Kenshin hoped.

The only thing he could do was to work as hard as he could. But still, there was this persistent fear that this waterfall training was doomed to fail, that it wouldn’t do him any good.

Maybe he was just too small, too weak to be of use to anyone…

A week later at the beginning of their training session, Master introduced a new idea to Kenshin. “You have used ki to enhance your hearing before. But ki can also be used to strengthen the muscles. It’s something that Hiten Mitsurugi style requires for advanced strikes. However, while it is very early and therefore dangerous to introduce the concept to you... perhaps we should attempt it.”

 _This is it! This, this can actually work!_  Kenshin thought enthusiastically, feeling relieved. After all, the coldness  _had_  been the answer before. It was  _his thing_. It had made the Master proud of him before.

I am _good_  with ki.

Kenshin knew this. It was like, if there was one thing in the world that made him special, made him actually worth something, it would be the coldness, the ki.

But…

When he had promised not to use the coldness without Master’s permission, the spirit-friend had been disappointed in him. Kenshin had only _talked_  with spirit-friend after that, even though he knew that the spirit liked when he used the coldness. Maybe because of that, it just hadn’t been the same, since.

Even when he had removed pieces of the wall to enhance his ki sense earlier in the summer, the spirit hadn’t become any happier. No. It just hadn’t been the same as during their time with Asano or in Osumi-san’s house when they had done the hearing trick. It was like there was something wrong between him and the spirit. Unspoken. Maybe this would fix it?

“I think that it would be easiest to begin with directing the spiritual energy to the legs and using it to enhance jumps. It’s where this type of training usually starts.”

Kenshin nodded, for once understanding Master’s logic easily. When he had drawn coldness to ears, it had made them work better, so it followed that drawing a trickle of the coldness to his legs would make them stronger, too.Kenshin though this to the spirit-friend, sent a memory of his problems with the speed training and asked for help with the coldness.

Hesitation. Disagreement. Worry. Anger. Loneliness. Sadness. Anger at Master.

 _…What?_ Kenshin froze, utterly stunned. The spirit-friend had always been there for him, had been always willing to help.Why would it stop now?So he thought to it firmly, ‘This is important. I need your help!’

‘It won’t work,’ the spirit-friend finally answered with a whispering sound.

‘Why?’

It felt like a good idea to him. After all, Master had suggested it and Master knew ki, too!

Anger at master. Disappointment. Jealousy. Hesitation.

And then a simple but firm whisper, ‘No.’

Kenshin was suddenly pulled from his baffling almost-a-fight with his spirit-friend by Master’s voice. “…need to gather your ki to your core. The next step is to visualize your leg muscles and then focus and let the blood flow to move the energy to your legs. When you feel steady output, then it’s only a matter of control to make it useful to aid for the jump.”

Kenshin couldn’t help but stare at Master, mouth falling open.

_The spirit –my friend, who has been there for me so long, doesn’t want to help me? And it’s angry at me? At Master? So much that it refuses to help? And it said that my idea wouldn’t work and… and…_

_…What the Master described isn’t like what I did with the coldness earlier!_

Kenshin swallowed, feeling stuck…

And somehow he couldn’t help but to remember how Master had shouted at him earlier, told him that he could kill himself for using ki the wrong way. And it had hurt and how his ears had bled just because he had used too much coldness – used it wrong.

But training in water wasn’t working as it should. And no matter what, he couldn’t disappoint Master.

_What should I do?_

Master was frowning at him. “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Go ahead and try it, Kenshin.”

What was he supposed to do? To do as he thought was a good idea, which the spirit thought wouldn’t work, but the spirit didn’t often agree with him anyway… But the spirit had always known coldness better than him! It was made of the coldness. Of course it would know coldness better!

Or should he try to do as Master told him to do, which didn’t make any sense at all?

And now the swordsman was frowning already. Would Master get angry at him for failing again? He couldn’t fail, not again! Not when the Master had finally a figured out a way to get faster, that Kenshin agreed that could work…

_What am I supposed to do?_

 “Idiot student. Focus. Take your head out of the clouds and focus! Try it out!”

So he did as Master told him to.

The spirit sent him a feeling of anger and disappointment.

 

* * *

 

 

Master’s disappointment had been getting steadily more obvious as the weeks passed, and now at the beginning of harvest season they left the waterfall, because the training hadn’t been working out at all. Well, Master had said that the reason was that they had been running out of food supplies... but it was  _a lie._

They both knew the unspoken truth – the real reason – which was that  _Kenshin was a failure_.

Now that they were on the road again, Kenshin still spent every free moment, every single day trying to figure out the ki and Master’s instructions for using it. Not that it helped.

In truth, nothing seemed to help and failing day after day made him feel steadily worse. And while the spirit-friend was still there to talk to him, it refused to help out with the ki. When Kenshin asked about it, the spirit just said that it wouldn’t work but didn’t offer any other explanation at all.

Constant failure and stress made the nightmares worse. Even though there hadn’t been any problems with the living memories for a while now, Kenshin couldn’t sleep a night without having a nightmare about failing, people telling him how useless he was, being sold and recently, of Master telling that he wouldn’t train him anymore.

He just didn’t know what to do.

The core of the problem was, or so it seemed to him, that no matter how hard he tried or how Master tried, they didn’t understand each other when it came to ki. What use was mediation, concentrating the ki to the core, using breathing exercises? Master’s way of using it just didn’t make any sense! It was like they both saw the ki in totally different way and couldn’t use the other’s methods at all.

One night, Kenshin was so sick and tired of the current standstill that he decided to risk it and experiment with his own idea of using coldness to his legs like he had done with his ears. When Master was hunting, he sneaked out of the camp to have some privacy.

At a good secluded spot, he started to gather the coldness to his side of the wall, just like he had done last winter. Drawing the trickle of coldness to his left leg took  _forever_ , but then when he was almost there… Kenshin realized that he had absolutely no idea where to direct it. It was just a moment’s pause in concentration and a flare of panic, but it was enough to lose control of the trickle and it  _splashed…_

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!”

…and his left leg burst out with absolutely terrible pain.

Tears gathered in his eyes and he bit his knuckles to fight the pain, but there was nothing else to do but to try to get the coldness away, away, away as fast as he could.When Kenshin finally managed to get the ki away and rolled his pant leg up, he saw an ugly mess. The surface blood vessels of his leg had burst so badly that the thigh was all over bruised and it was already starting to swell.

It looked bad, but what was more horrible was how his leg ached _._

Staring at it, utterly scared and in panic, Kenshin tried to stifle a rising wail. He needed help,right now.

But Master was out there, hunting and he had no chance of finding the older man. He was too far away to scream for help, too.

The next choice was to get to the camp, and to their supplies.

_Oh god, it hurts! It hurts so badly._

Kenshin whimpered, but fought the pain and rose to stand. Then he started limping back to the camp for the good mile through the forest, just one painful step after another.

The aftermath was absolutely horrible.

Over anything else, even worse than the physical pain and reality of his failure, was Master’s disappointment and scolding. It felt like the worst thing on earth to sit there silently and hear Master shouting at him, telling that he was “an idiot for risking his health” and reminding that Kenshin had promised to “never again use ki without instruction”.

And his leg?

It hurt.

It hurt so badly that he couldn’t walk more than a mile before needing to ask to take a break. Yet, no matter the pain and shame, it was almost worth if – if only because Master banned him from training or even trying to use ki for the next two weeks. Being sick and healing was as good of an excuse as it could get from the constant feeling of failure, of coming to realize that he was as useless with the sword as he was with everything else.

But when his leg was almost healed and it was time to resume the training again, then came the worst blow of them all. Master called his attention, his face still like a mask, not giving out any hint of his feelings, and spoke calmly, “Let’s move on to other things with your training. It was too early to introduce you to ki. You are too young for it.”

The only thing Kenshin had been truly good at was now the source of his greatest failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2013, then again 14.11.2015 by BelovedStranger.


	11. Impossible choises

# Chapter 10. Impossible Choices

 

Master took them back to Suo prefecture in the late autumn of that year – the fourth year of Ansei. They visited a temple where Master’s teacher, the old Hiko Seijuuro the 12th, had been buried to pay their respects.

At Kenshin’s shy request, they took time to visit Shinta’s graveyard as well.

When he knelt in front of Kasumi’s grave, Kenshin realized that he had been with Master for a whole year now. He hadn’t really noticed the time before. But, somehow, it also made him feel grateful that Master had found him in this lonely graveyard. Back then, he hadn’t really understood it, but Master had quite likely saved his life.

So as he made a small prayer for Kasumi, Akane and Sakura, just like Master said was a common practice, Kenshin took extra time to thank them for giving him the chance to live. And then, he thanked Kasumi especially, because she had told him to keep living for her. 

It hadn’t been easy since the sickness that swept over his family… but all in all, life was good now.

After that, they had travelled to the Nagato prefecture, where Master led him to a small lonely house on a mountainside. Master had looked weird when they had got there, like he was seeing something in the empty abandoned cottage. But when Kenshin asked about it, the swordsman had just said that it used to belong to his teacher and it was where Master had spent most of his training years.

The house had been abandoned for years and it was in great disarray. Everything was dusty, creaky and smelly. The roofing had gone bad in some spots, too, so the first task Master took upon himself was to fix it. Kenshin’s duties were mostly cleaning. Then came the restocking for the winter; the old abandoned cottage had no food, firewood or other necessities stored. Almost all of Master’s painfully earned money went to buying what they needed.

Truthfully, Kenshin was a little terrified to see all that money spent in mere days.

Master saw his apprehension, and explained to him gruffly, “It’s only money – and as such, only useful for buying necessities. There is no point in hoarding it. Besides, it’s better to stay in one location for the winter, rather than to risk it on the road.”

Remembering last winter, Kenshin could only agree. Travelling in snow had been quite awful, not to mention sleeping in the freezing weather…

When Kenshin had the chance and some time alone, he still occasionally tried to figure out the trick of using coldness to strengthen his muscles for speed and better jumps. For some reason, his failure seemed to gnaw at him endlessly.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to failure, for not figuring things out on his own. One way or another, he had always managed to solve his problems. It was a deep conviction in him that if he just tried hard enough, there was always a way.

Or maybe it was just he was too stubborn to let go, to stop trying. 

However, because of the failure, he was angry at the spirit, feeling like it had betrayed him in some way. He hadn’t felt like talking to it because of that either. Maybe it was unfair of him, but he couldn’t help but to feel his failure was the spirit’s fault.  

When Master had abandoned the speed-training and ki-training as inefficient, he had moved Kenshin to focus his time on agility. So now Kenshin’s days were filled with regular stretching and gymnastics practices, like standing on his hands, doing cartwheels and flips. It was fun and challenging, almost enough that he could forget his ineptitudes.

Another good thing with new types of training was that it eased his panic and stress, and he didn’t have to suffer nightmares so often either.

It seemed like he was really getting better, bit by bit.

The basic katas felt like second nature by now and he did the basic strikes mostly for form’s sake and to keep his arms fit. Master had decreed him good enough at them and the sparring had gotten a lot more fun. They would spar at a faster pace and instead of kicking him away or flipping him to the ground, like he had been prone to do earlier, now Master would even occasionally tap him with the blade to mark the hit.

When Master was displeased, he would leave a scratch or bruise to remind him to keep his stance or to protect his form better. Because of that, it almost felt like they were fighting for real and Kenshin found the sparring a lot more appealing than the endless repetition of basics.

During the evenings and mornings, they would continue with the reading and writing lessons, and Master’s word puzzles grew to be more complex. Kenshin really liked solving them, and one time he had dared to ask the swordsman where he came up with them.

“They are poems, not riddles. But as where they are from, well… Some I have read before and just recite to you. But mostly, they are of my own composition.”

“You make these up? But they are really good! You should write them down so that other people could read them, too!” Kenshin exclaimed enthusiastically, trying to cover his surprise. He hadn’t really thought of the surly swordsman as a person who liked playing with words.

“And how would you know if they are any good? With your literature experience? Idiot student,” Master scoffed at him incredulously.

Kenshin knew by now not to take it personally, and didn’t even get annoyed, but choose to stir the rice stew in the pot.

Lately, it seemed that Master had taken to calling him “idiot” more often, but it didn’t matter.

In actual truth, he could very well be a real idiot when compared to the Master, but that wasn’t the point. Rather, the important thing was the way Master said it. It wasn’t an observation, but spoken in an amused tone, and Master’s ki feeling slightly warm, like it was a pet name. Like “dear child” that Osumi-san used. And what came to their comparative intelligence, well... it was like he and Master just thought in very different ways.

_Just like how spirit and I always quarreled…_

Regarding the poems though, Kenshin decided to let the matter be for now. Master seemed a little bit embarrassed and harassing him right now wouldn’t help at all. However, it didn’t mean Kenshin couldn’t mention it later again. And maybe, if he could get Master to write his riddles down and show them to someone, other people could enjoy them just like he did.

That night when Kenshin retired to his bedroll, he took his top to play with it. At first, he had hid the toy because he had been afraid of it being taken away. Then, he had kept hiding it because he hadn’t wanted to be seen as a weak kid or ridiculed about playing with it so often by Master. But now, he just didn’t have anything else for reassurance, so any of those silly worries didn’t matter anymore.

The top was the last thing he had left of second-mother-Kasumi, and it was just easy to think of her encouraging and kind words when playing with it.

She had asked him to  _live._

“Live for me,” she had said, back when he had been Shinta.

This past year, he had done his best to fulfill her wish. No matter how hard it had been, even after Master had taken him in and given him the new name “Kenshin” and agreed to call him by his name, as a sign of respecting him as a person. 

_A person. Not a slave. Not a thing like a kettle or a bucket. Not a child either, or anything else. Just a person in my own right._

Back at the graveyard, Kenshin hadn’t had anyone; it had been just him and the spirit, alone. But now he didn’t really have his friend anymore, either.

While the spirit was still there, it wasn’t exactly a friend.

A friend was someone one could talk to no matter what happened. And yes, the spirit was still willing to talk to him, but it was angry at him. Before, it had been angry at people but never at him. To make it worse, he had absolutely no idea why the spirit was angry at him, either.

Kenshin huffed in annoyance, and turned to lie on his other side on the bedroll. Then he tied the string around the top’s knob yet again and pulled - it started to move again, the pretty colors mixing together.

_Just why is the spirit so angry at me anyway?_

It didn’t make any sense; he hadn’t done anything wrong.  _It_  was just being impossible and refused to understand. Kenshin’s eyes opened wide and he stopped the spinning top abruptly.

It.

The spirit, the spirit-friend… it.

It didn’t have a  _name._

He had made sure to be called “Kenshin” and even rudely demanded it from Master, because he had wanted to be a person in his own right. He had insistent on being called by his name, because he hadn’t wanted to be a  _thing_.

But all this time he had been treating the spirit like it should always help him without getting anything in return. He had always just spoken to the spirit whenever he felt like doing so; always assuming it was ready to help him. Never thinking twice, never pausing to think at all.

All this time, he had used his friend – the only one who had always been there with him, who had always done everything it could to help him. And in return, he hadn’t even treated the spirit as a _person_.

Utterly stunned by the realization, Kenshin tried to remember back to the spring… last summer, the early autumn. All those arguments with the spirit, how something just hadn’t been right with them anymore. How he had felt that the spirit had betrayed him by not helping out.

Yet all that time he had left the spirit alone. He hadn’t offered to help it in turn when it clearly wanted company and help. Instead, he had just scorned its selfishness.

Kenshin felt sick to his stomach.

He had tried his best to be fair and kind, a good boy like his mother had always wanted him to be. But all this time he had been a really bad friend to his oldest… no, his _only_ friend.

Swallowing softly, Kenshin turned to his back and tried to think of a way to make it better, to fix this mess.

When he had got caught for listening in to Osumi-san’s and Master’s private conversations, he had been asked to apologize for his rudeness.

An apology. It couldn’t even begin to cover the hurt he had done the spirit, but it would be a good start.

Kenshin frowned and searched for the coldness inside him. There was the wall… the spirit had retreated almost fully to the other side and it felt very cold. Somehow, it seemed small, lonely and _weak_.

It was enough to make him feel he should cry in shame. He had done this to his only friend. But crying didn’t help anyone; so instead, he gently nudged the spirit through the hole he had dug in the wall earlier. 

It didn’t answer.

Kenshin didn’t relent, but sent a memory of his realizations to it.

A flicker of interest. A picture of the carved rock – prison. Anger. Sadness. Loneliness.

 _‘I’m sorry,’_ he thought to the spirit. _‘I have been a bad friend to you.’_

A silence. But then…

‘Yes.’

_‘You didn’t have to help me out with the speed training. I was wrong to demand it from you.’_

A stunned silence. But then… petting agreement.

Kenshin felt wetness in his eyes and sniffled. Kasumi’s top clutched in his hands, he swallowed. _‘I promised to help you, but I didn’t. I left you alone. I am sorry. Please, forgive me.’_

For a while, nothing happened.

But then…

The petting comfort feeling.

It was like the best feeling in the world.

After that, for the rest of the night, Kenshin just talked with the spirit, for hours, nothing but talking and sharing memories. Not demanding anything, just sharing stories and agonies of training, the successes and failures. Telling how he hadn’t managed to figure out the speed trick for muscles and how it had become a sore point for him. How he had tried to figure it out and always failed.

The spirit had then sent him a feeling of guilt. And then: ‘One was angry with the boy… so one didn’t want to tell… But truth is that one doesn’t know.’

For a second, Kenshin felt a flicker of anger  _\- it didn’t know? Why didn’t it admit it right away?_

But, those words were very  _odd_  for the spirit. Never before had it said something like that, and then Kenshin realized that the spirit-friend had answered to his apology with one of its own. The very first apology the spirit had ever made.

So, there was only one thing to do.

 _‘I forgive you.’_ Kenshin thought to the spirit and added a feeling of pride and fondness.

Maybe it was alright that the spirit didn’t know either. It was for the best, really. They would figure out the speed trick with muscles and ki together.

After all, they were a team.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Master went to hunt after training. Kenshin felt tired and asked to be left behind. Master had called him lazy but hadn’t protested more. After all, living together one learned to let the other person have some space every now and then.

So Kenshin sat on a rock near the house, next to the clearing they used for practice and idly drew shapes in the ground with his toe while speaking with the spirit. The current topic was about widening the hole in the wall, whether it would help with the training dilemma or not. The spirit thought that it could help to increase the amount of coldness to use, yes, but other than that… it wouldn’t do much.

Somehow, Kenshin had drawn the letter for heart with his toe. He added “big” next to it without a second thought. Together the letters formed his former name, just like that. On a whim, he drew the letter for “sword”... added another “heart” next to it.

_My old and new name. Together, side by side._

An idea took him.

_‘Would you like to have a name?’_

Hesitation. Questioning feeling.

 _‘It’s just… every person should have a name. And you are a person,’_ Kenshin tried to explain.

The spirit didn’t say anything. Instead, the coldness moved a bit like it was squirming inside him.

_‘It is wonderful to be called by my name. I still really like it. And I think it would be something you would like, too.’_

Hesitation again… but then the petting agreement.

_‘I was thinking… how we share the same body and how you knew me before… and how my name was “big heart” before and how it is now “sword heart” so… you could be “sword and big.”’_

A small pause… but then…

‘Kenta.’ The spirits whispered softly, and send the petting agreement.

 

* * *

 

The winter came and went, spent in the old Bastard’s house. At first Hiko hadn’t really wanted to return to the god forsaken flea infested little house in the middle of nowhere, because whatever he did, the Old Bastard would be looking over his shoulder there. But Osumi’s words had kept haunting him and he had finally managed to swallow enough of his spite to return there.

At first, it was just to check it out to see that it would be inhabitable. If not, he could just return to the road and find work in a city or something. But when they got to the familiar mountain, it hadn’t hurt to see the house where he had lived most of his youth. Where he had killed the old man.

It hadn’t hurt. He just felt numb.

And it was better for his apprentice.

So they had stayed.  

The boy had progressed well enough, despite the disappointment in the summer’s training. However, even if he was guiding the training to agility for the moment, he still resolved to keep the boy’s physical training geared towards speed. Maybe the boy would grow to it. It wasn’t like it was easy to condition speed to the muscles and then train a child to use the resources he had.

And Hiko finally admitted to himself, pushing the boy too hard had just stopped all the progress.

There seemed to be a trick to it. If he didn’t push enough, the boy would stagnate, but if he pressed too hard the boy would stress, lose sleep to the nightmares and every wisp of progress would just melt into thin air.

So, he would just have to judge the situation better and adjust the training for the child’s capabilities.

Osumi-san  _had_  had certain wisdom in that.

She had said last winter that he couldn’t treat Kenshin as a miniature adult. And though it took time to admit that he had misjudged the situation at the waterfall, he had finally given up and changed the approach and moved the boy to other forms of training.

Seeing the boy’s incomprehension with ki and desperate tries with it… What had possessed him to introduce the ki as a method for strengthening the muscles this early, anyway?

Using ki internally was among the last steps of Hiten Mitsurugi. It was the key to special moves of the style, the final steps; the Kuzuryusen, to Amakakeru ryo no Hirameki… to the godlike speed. No. He should have stayed calm, even though the boy had displayed a unique talent with the hearing trick. He had just been impatient and seen the opportunity.

Besides, Ki was mostly used externally. There were other sword schools that had managed to incorporate it to their styles in that manner.

The internal usage demanded incredible control and innate talent. So much so that very few people could do it at all. It was not something people figured out by accident; after all, channeling the swordspirit could lead to serious muscle damage.

And losing control?

Well, when Hiko had been interested in creative applications of internal ki-usage as a boy, the Old Bastard had taken time to introduce him to a monk with similar talent. The man had tried something similar Kenshin had managed – enhance his vision with ki. But the monk’s control had slipped and the blood vessels in his eyes had burst.

His apprentice had been  _insanely lucky_  with the hearing trick.

But now as the spring had come, Hiko felt his restlessness stirring and it was time to go back to wandering. He had a duty and even an apprentice wouldn’t deter him from it.  The boy followed him where he went, despite his troubles in accepting Hiko’s way of following the philosophy of Hiten Mitsurugi.

Not that it mattered. Kenshin _would_  get used to it.

The seasons ran, and during the summer of fifth year of Ansei, Hiko finally become annoyed enough at the noise the boy kept while walking and showed the trick how to find sure spots for steps, how to watch the surroundings and how to move silently.

They had made a game of it.

It wasn’t all that hard to keep sneaking up on the kid until the boy figured out how to continuously use ki to locate him. Then the boy had asked if it would be possible to hide the ki presence.

Hiko had just smirked and tried to explain the concept – to spread it thin and suppress the flare.  He had been waiting for Kenshin to catch up with that.

And it was a good way to ease back to training with the ki.

The boy had an unusually large and defined ki presence, but ki was like a muscle in a way – the more one used it, the easier time one had with it. And training served to increase the swordspirit. Maybe the earlier failure had been because the boy didn’t have good enough control?

So they learned to mask and unmask ki and kept using the life-force to detect people. It was good training and the game was almost fun. The boy was getting pretty good at hiding. It was also useful because of Hiko’s self-appointed mission to keep the roads and forest clear of vermin, he now wouldn’t have to worry so much about the boy.

However, it was worrisome how many bandits and other outlaws there were, as well as other signs of general unrest. When they visited the villages and moved from prefecture to prefecture, Hiko had more and more difficulties passing the borders. He still managed to travel as a ronin, but it was clear that people had deep distrusts for the sort.

The boy’s appearance kept gathering ugly looks whenever they stopped at the villages, as well.

It seemed like the country was slowly reaching a boiling point. Already there had been some talk of rebellion against the increasingly strict Shogunate.

At the early harvest season, they took time to visit Osumi-san in Matsue. The boy had been ecstatic to see the kind samurai lady again. She had been welcoming and asked them to stay for the night with a sly wink. Hiko had just smirked fondly at the minx.

However, visiting her house made it abundantly clear that he really should be firmer with teaching manners to the kid. Because during the delicious meal that Osumi-san had prepared, the kid had dared to demand him to show his poetry to her. Kenshin had claimed that other people should be able to read his words, too. Osumi-san, of course, had agreed with the boy while flashing a conspiring smile.

He couldn’t really say no to that smile.

So he had recited a few of his better verses to the lady.

What had surprised him was that Osumi-san seemed to enjoy them as much as the boy had. And then she had suggested that he should write them down. Apparently she had a friend in Hagi, who could be interested in them and maybe, if the poems passed his critique, they could be used in a book.

It was a completely ridiculous idea, but damned it didn’t please something in him. Crafting poems was just a hobby, and it helped to keep the boy’s interest in reading practices. But if Osumi-san was also pleased with them, maybe the idea had some merit?

So during the next stop at a town, Hiko bought a proper paper and ink set.

A stray idea had him pushing Kenshin to try to write with the proper tools… and well, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

It really shouldn’t have.

But the boy’s handwriting was absolutely atrocious. Hiko felt like hitting himself. Teaching anyone to write with dirt and sticks for nearly two years… of course the pen would be held differently. But what was done was done, and it would take forever to correct the mistake. And the boy, no matter Hiko’s attempts to educate him, was a country bumpkin through and through. Maybe the skills would serve the Kenshin’s needs as they were.

In Hagi, they met up with Osumi-san’s friend, Kawase-san, who according to Osumi-san would have knowledge and interest in poetry. And surprisingly, after Hiko had given the man a few of his works to read, the reaction had been positive. One thing led to another, and after some discussion, Kawase-san had endeavored to buy the poems for publishing them in a poetry collection.

To say that Hiko was unsure about the idea was a severe understatement, especially after Kawase-san had asked what name the poems should be published under.

The honorable name of Hiko Seijuuro was an inherited one through the sword style and shouldn’t be used for other efforts. And if by some miracle his poems would bring fame, well it wouldn’t do to use the name that should be only known for its efforts in defense of the common people.

…But to publish his words, well, the temptation was there.

Hiko knew that he was a vain and prideful man. And to gain recognition for his talents was too good a lure to pass up. So, he had smirked and agreed to Kawase-san’s proposition. “Let’s just use the name Kii no Hiroto.”

And the agreement was made. And they agreed that when Hiko had more, he should bring them first to Kawase-san in Hagi again.

Kenshin had been smug as a cat after they left the town with money bag pleasantly heavy.

Hiko had made the boy sweat it out with practice. It wouldn’t do for the idiot student to know that he had managed to prompt Hiko to such insanity.

The little brat was already bad for his resolve.

He hadn’t even remembered to buy Sake in ages.

 

* * *

 

 

It was spring again, the sixth year of Ansei apparently, and Kenshin was currently balancing on top of a cut bamboo tree. It was a new exercise. Master would cut trees and had him trying to balance on top of the cut – a bit like with how Kasumi’s top would balance on the sharp tip. But the boy couldn’t spin to make it easier.

No.

He had to just try to figure out how not to fall.

And Master liked to make it hard by making the cut higher and higher. This one was at the height of Kenshin’s waist.

He had now spent three winters with Master and had grown quite a bit over the last one. So the first thing they did when coming down from the mountain after getting Master a job was to use the pay to buy new clothes for Kenshin. He now had a new shirt and pants. The pants were a funny light purple color. It looked girlish. Maybe that was why they had been cheap? He  _had_  protested having to wear such a color, but then again… new was new.

To make up for the indignity, well. No. Kenshin just wished it would be so, but it was most likely because of the training that Master had bought him also gauntlets to protect his hands. They were simple, just cloth and leather, that had metal plates in the back of his hand and forearm.

But they were  _cool_.

They made him look like a warrior. The spirit – Kenta – agreed that they were awesome.

During the seclusion in the winter, Master had taken to teaching him simple mathematics. Kenshin didn’t know what he had done to the older man to earn this torture. Math was hard. The reading and writing lessons continued with the poetry, and he was getting quite good at reading. Master would every now and then write up poems for Kawase-san.

Lately, Kenshin had been left to do all the chores in the house. He would cook, clean, fetch the water, chop the firewood, sew the clothes and do the laundry. When he complained it was unfair, Master had just remarked that it was time for him to earn his keep. And besides, did he have anything more important to do during the quiet winters?

There wasn’t anything he could think to counter that, so he had just accepted his fate.  After all, living and training with Master had settled into a routine. It was a comfortable one.

The friendship with the spirit, Kenta, had also grown tighter. When Master would go to train or wanted to be alone, Kenshin would have time to spend with his friend.

The trick of using the ki for speed was still evading him. The two friends had tried everything they could think of to figure it out, but to no avail. Well, unless one counted few instances of spectacular bruises and faint limping the next day that Kenshin always did his best to hide from Master. If asked…  _well, in a way it was muscle ache and growing pains… wasn’t it?_

The constant failure was a sore point but he refused to give up.

Every now and then, he would widen the hole in the wall, and the good feelings from touching the things in the wall kept reminding him of why he trained. Also, Kasumi’s top was something he still kept always with him.

Kenta had flowed more to his side of the wall. It made talking with the spirit easier and using the coldness to sense Master’s movements had become like a second nature now. Kenta didn’t like when Master sneaked up on them and kept a constant watch. It was also probably because Master claimed that Kenshin shouldn’t have his “head in the clouds”. It was disgraceful and a bad habit according the older man. So, whenever the swordsman caught Kenshin talking with the spirit-friend, he would make a mean remark about it.

Those remarks usually ended with “Idiot student!”

Kenta really didn’t like Master calling them names. Kenshin didn’t mind the habit, but it felt good to know that the spirit was on his side.

The sword training had become like second nature, and was nowadays more focused on sparring. Kenshin  _loved_  it, even though Master had started to score hits more often. Whenever he made a mistake or left an opening in his defenses, Master would cut or bruise him as a reminder. He didn’t mind, the pain was an old friend by now and it just meant that the swordsman trusted him to handle it.

The physical training had started to include even more challenging balancing and agility training. Kenshin suspected that it was something that Master wanted him to be able to combine with his swordsmanship later. Thus, balancing on bamboo poles.

‘Master is coming west,’ the spirit whispered.

And there it was, the familiar feeling of coldness. Kenshin stood straighter. It wouldn’t do to slouch in front of the older man.

Master stepped out from the forest, carrying a couple of rabbits by their ears. “How is it going?”

“Good,” Kenshin answered, trying to focus. Somehow Master’s presence made balancing harder. It was almost like the bamboo pole swayed more.

Master stepped closer, making a clear show of the rabbits. “Some meat for dinner.”

Kenshin just grunted.

“Catch.”

…and he threw the rabbits to Kenshin.

“…aaaaaAh! Ow. Ow. Ow.”

“You need to focus, idiot student!”

‘He just had to do that… didn’t he?’ Kenshin grumbled to the spirit. ‘And it was going so well…’

“And get your head out of the clouds! Idiot student! It’s no wonder that you fall down so often the way you keep…”

_Oh yes, business as usual._

 

* * *

  

“Oh, it’s so romantic.”

“A nobleman’s son, taken as a hostage to keep the peace.”

“And when he was required to return to marry a woman of his father’s choosing…”

“The young man returns… handsome, riding a white steed and dressed in white.”

“Oh no, I know what happens!”

“The young lord, nah… the prince declines!”

“Yes! He has fallen in love with another!”

“No! He doesn’t want to rule!”

“Quiet now! It’s my story!”

“The young lord returns… but says that he cannot marry, for he has a  _duty_.”

“Ooooh.”

Giggle.

“And… when the old lord demands that he has a duty to his family, the young prince…”

“… just disappears,” all three voices chanted together.

“Oooh. I love that story. I wonder what happened to the prince.”

“No one knows. It’s a mystery.”

“And the best thing is, they say that it really happened with the noble family of Kii.”

“No way!”

“Yes! And that new poet that everybody talks about has the same name as the young lord!”

“You are making that up.”

“No! It’s the truth!”

“It’s not like it would ever happen. But imagine it, a lord abandoning his duty to the family for art?”

"A scandal!”

“But so mysterious.”

“Ah.”

Kenshin shook his head and scoffed at the ridiculous story, but didn’t voice his opinion. At first, the tale had sounded interesting, but truthfully, the reason he had really listened to it had nothing to do with the story.

Rather, it was the three pretty girls dressed in fine kimono and wearing pale face paint who had caught his attention. It was like they were proper ladies, even finer than Osumi-san. Kenshin had never seen anything like them before. So when Master had given him some money to spend while he went to talk with Kawase-san, well it had been almost a given thing to follow them.

The girls stopped every now and then to look at the vendor stalls in the middle of the sunny streets of Hagi’s market place, which was filled with people. It wasn’t easy to follow the girls, but he had gotten really good at sneaking around. And keeping track of the girl’s soft ki presences, almost faint enough to fade in the sea of coldness, it was fun.

Kenta enjoyed the challenge of it, also.

But most importantly to Kenshin, the girls were something new and pretty. He almost wanted to go talk to them. To ask them questions; why were they dressed so prettily? What was the white paint for? Was it hard to walk on the high wooden clogs? They looked to be a bit older than him, but they were not quite adults, so maybe they wouldn’t mind?

He had almost gathered his courage to go talk to them when one of them, the youngest in a red kimono, saw him and paused to stare.

Kenshin immediately shied away, and hid behind a vendor stall.

“Hey, look… a foreigner.”

“What?”

“I saw a foreign kid back there.”

“No way! How did you know it was foreigner?”

“The kid – I think it was a boy. At least, it was dressed like a boy. Really ragtag though. But… he had red hair.”

“Kimiko-chan, don’t joke. No one has red hair. At least proper people don’t. It would look so ugly.”

“It was red and yes. It looked  _so_  weird, really ugly.”

“Where do you think you saw the foreigner?”

“Just behind us.”

A small laugh. “There is no one there.”

“There was! I saw it! Dressed in rags, red hair, really pale skin and pale eyes!”

“Now I know that you are making that up. Are you sure you are not describing a demon from a kabuki play?”

Mocking giggle.

“Kimiko-chan, you are so simple. If it was a foreigner, he would be rich. Everyone knows that foreigners are rich.”

“And he wouldn’t be alone! A foreigner would have bodyguards!”

With that, the girls turned and walked away. The one in red, Kimiko-chan turned to look back once. Kenshin didn’t feel like following them anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

When Hiko came back from his meeting with Kawase-san, he was feeling extraordinary pleased with himself. His poetry had sold well, and in addition to wanting more of his poems, Kawase-san had paid him quite a bit more than Hiko had ever imagined something like art would earn him.

Now he wouldn’t have to look for escort jobs in a while. He really didn’t care much for escorting the greedy merchants or doing bodyguard work. He didn’t like using his swordsmanship for his own gain; it just didn’t sit right with him. The sword of Mitsurugi was for the protection of the common people, not for his selfish needs. But then again, the money was a necessary evil for living.

He had found his apprentice waiting for him just outside the publishers shop looking surly as only a teenager could ever be. Kenshin was still small and scrawnier than Hiko hoped for a kid of ten years old, but then again, it wasn’t like that was likely to change.

The boy’s speed hadn’t been improving in spite of the hard physical training, so Hiko had started to look for other options. The boy had talent with balancing and gymnastics, and the agility training had produced very good results so far. But a small and agile swordsman, what would work out with that combo to produce the sort of ability Hiten Mitsurugi demanded? Speed was the logical answer. But then again, not every small fighter specialized in speed.

Well, at least some of the ki training had worked out fine thus far. Not the internal usage but sensing and masking the swordspirit. Maybe he could start introducing external ki usage soon? Douryusen would be a perfect place to start.

 _Kenshin is really subdued, though. What is up with that?_ He had given the boy time off to explore and some money to spend. It should have made the kid happy, shouldn’t it?

“Why the long face, Kenshin?” Hiko finally asked.

“Why don’t people like foreigners?”

Ah,he should have known. Someone must have remarked something aloud about the foreigners. Hagi wasn’t a particularly nice place for Westerners at the moment, with all that Yoshida Shoin business and the “Sonno Joi” nonsense. Well, Choshuu radicals could do whatever they wished as far as Hiko was concerned. But how to explain to the kid what was brewing in politics?

Not damn much, not without giving the naïve kid a bone to hang on to. Hiko swore the kid would never let a matter be. It was like that poetry nonsense – Kenshin had gotten an idea and a year later found a way to  _push_  it. There was no way that Hiko would clue the kid in to politics.

No, it was far better to redirect that attention and focus on the heart of the issue. Kenshin was at the age where everything revolved around him. So, it wouldn’t be about politics. No, it would be about that  _damn hair_.

“Someone commented on your hair again?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t pay attention to other people’s issues. If it bothers you, cover your damn hair or something.”

A silence. But then…

“Yes, Master.”

“You want me to buy you a hat?”

“No.”

“Or even better, use your own money to buy a hat. Then I wouldn’t have to keep seeing you lose your head in the clouds!”

“Master!”

 With a laugh, Hiko kept walking. The boy followed, already seeming to be in a better mood. Who knew that teasing the brat could be fun?

And it distracted the kid.

A perfect solution to the problem, indeed!

 

* * *

  

For some reason, Hiko’s feet led them north after Hagi. They followed the coastal line with a comfortable pace. The summer was hot, but the breeze kept it pleasant enough. They didn’t encounter much trouble and Hiko kept the boy busy with different exercises on top walking. They would camp early and the boy would cook for them. He had gotten better at it, Hiko thought approvingly. Osumi had given the boy the basics and from there the experience had taken over.

She really was a remarkable woman, educated but retaining her sense of humor. She had pride in her skills, and a practical sort of wisdom that Hiko couldn’t help but to approve of. He had found himself thinking about her more often, and of her constant good advice concerning Kenshin. Hiko was fairly sure that he would have managed just fine on his own, but Osumi had given him a lot to think on. And it didn’t hurt that she was a generous woman in every way.

Occasionally, when the mood struck him, Hiko would wonder what he would be like if the world was different. If he didn’t have his duty, if he was the marrying sort, Osumi would be just the kind of woman he could see himself falling in love with.

But the world was what it was.

He had his apprentice and his duty. He was content.

But still, when they reached Izumo, it was almost logical to head for Matsue as well. After all, Osumi-san had been delighted whenever they had taken time to visit her. Kenshin also recognized that they were near Matsue. So together the pair headed eagerly to the small coastal town.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am getting older.”

Osumi’s father, the old samurai Isamu-san, noted calmly.

Hiko was again sharing a drink with the older gentleman. He had grown to like the Samurai, in his own way and just nodded at the remark. What need was there to add any words to the observation? Truth was what it was.

The sake tasted sweet. He hadn’t had any in ages. Hadn’t really thought about it, either. He just hadn’t felt the need to buy the rice wine. But now, it just tasted good. Hiko didn’t feel even a hint of his former need to drink for numbness; to forget… but just enjoyed the taste.

“Osumi, too, is getting older.”

“So are all of us. Even my apprentice has grown. I don’t know whether to be glad of it or to be disappointed about it.”

“Ah yes, the boy. He displayed better manners this time, almost enough to pass for a lad of proper name.”

Hiko couldn’t help laughing at that. “Oh, Kenshin is a country bumpkin through and through. But one does what one can.”

“My daughter seemed delighted to see him. You as well.” The older man looked at him with a sideways glance.

 _Ah, this…_ Hiko looked away. He knew that the old man knew of his _closeness_ with Osumi-san. It wasn’t proper. Most fathers wouldn’t have stood for it. But Osumi was a widow with a strong will and absolutely no hesitation to lash her tongue. And she was Isamu-san’s only daughter, so the older man wasn’t willing to press the issue, much.

Still, there was no need to rise to the bait. It would serve no purpose to argue about it. No, for now it was better to derail the conversation, Hiko thought with a frown. “The unrest is growing in the south.”

“Mmmhm. Tokugawa is growing desperate. The foreigners keep pushing and the system is growing unstable. Has the situation been getting worse in the countryside?”

“It’s getting grim. Taxes are growing heavy to bear. There are more outlaws… and ronin. It’s making travelling more difficult.”

“Ah.”

The old man fell silent, looking down at his saucer of sake, letting his thumb trail the side of the cup thoughtfully.

“I liked your Master,” Isamu remarked, but didn’t look up. “I don’t know you well, but my daughter holds you in high regard. I have no heir.”

Hiko froze.

“I would like to have you as my son. Through marriage or through adoption, it doesn’t matter to me which.”

_Oh no. This…_

“I would prefer you to marry Osumi. She would be happy with you, I think.”

Hiko swallowed _. Distract. Avoid. Buy time._ And he choked out, “Have you discussed this with her?”

“I have inquired. She told me she wouldn’t say no. She would even accept the boy into her household.”

“I….”

“Think about it.”

And with that, the old Samurai rose and patted his shoulder, walking away with heavy steps, letting a slight limp in his left leg show. It hadn’t been there last year. Shiomi Isamu, the man was white and crooked, way over sixty, Hiko knew.

_But how can I get out of this?_

_Do I even want to get out of this?_

If it had been a simple offer of marriage, Hiko could have easily declined. But this was a beautiful trap in its simplicity. Everything a ronin would ever want; a good name, good connections, wealth, and a wonderful woman.

_A home._

It had been so long ago that Hiko had had a home.

He still had his duty to Hiten Mitsurugi, but the duty had chafed, been heavy on his shoulders. He had been avoiding it, if he was honest with himself. He had taken to training Kenshin in good remote locations and cleared the vermin on the way, but he hadn’t really been seeking more proper ways to protect the people as he had sworn to do. He hadn’t been fulfilling his promise to the Old Bastard as well as he could have. 

 And he had an apprentice now.

When he had trained Kenshin, in time he could pass down the mantle of Hiko Seijuuro. Why couldn’t he just accept this generous offer and enjoy life?

He could be happy here. Kenshin’s training would be easy to complete when he wished to – after all, staying in one place gave him better chances to train the boy.

But, when the Old Bastard had taken him in, taught him, and then he had returned home. It had all seemed so bitter and  _shallow_  compared to the simple truth and beauty of Hiten Mitsurugi swordsmanship. And the principles of the sword had seemed true, so appealing compared to the measly cesspit of lies and politics, family duties and constant betrayal of noble life. It had been an easy answer then.

_Why isn’t it now?_

_During these three years, have I lost my way?_ _My belief in the truest philosophies of Hiten Mitsurugi? My dedication to help those in need?_

It was a stunning realization.

 

* * *

  

Kenshin had spent the evening with Osumi-san. She seemed happy to have him there with her and had asked about their journeys and Kenshin’s training.

Her kind questions were opened a floodgate. After all, it wasn’t often that Kenshin had a chance to spend time with other people other than Master or Kenta. Especially with people who liked him. And above anything else, he trusted Osumi-san, which was the reason why, after some time, he managed to wind up to somewhat embarrassing waters. “I saw girls in Hagi. They were really pretty and dressed up nicely.”

“Oh. Did you go talk to them?” she asked with an eager smile.

“No,” Kenshin answered and frowned, thinking how to get to what he really wanted to know. “I followed them. I wanted to go talk to them… wanted to ask questions.”

“But?”

“Then one of them saw me and stared. I couldn’t help but to listen in, and they called me foreigner. I am not  _foreigner_. Why do people keep calling me that?”

“Hmmm. You know it already, I think. You look different and people don’t know what to think of different things. And some people are scared of anything different.”

“I don’t think I am scary,” Kenshin whispered doubtfully, looking up to meet her kind brown eyes.

“Oh, you are not. But the thing is, since the foreigners came, the Shogun has had to agree to a lot of agreements that haven’t been very good for the country. And the economy has been growing unstable. So the shogun has increased the taxation. It’s making a lot of people angry right now. And scared of what will happen.”

“So, it’s because of foreigners that people are suffering?”

“Well, not exactly… but some people think so. They are saying “Sonno Joi” - “Revere the emperor, expel the barbarians”, because they hope that it would make things better.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t think too much about it. It doesn’t concern you yet. But it’s good to know, because if the “Sonno joi” movement gains popularity, just one look from unfriendly eyes and you could get into a dangerous situation because of what you look like.”

Kenshin nodded, the seriousness in her words making a chill race down his spine.

_Maybe I should have bought the hat after all…_

 

* * *

 

 

Osumi-san’s father Isamu joined them at the morning meal.

Kenshin didn’t know what to think of the older man. He seemed nice enough, but sometimes it felt like the old Samurai didn’t speak the same as he thought. And though the older man didn’t seem to dislike him, not like most of the older people, he still seemed distant. So Kenshin endeavored to be really careful and polite in the old Samurai’s presence. After all, they were quests in his house. And Osumi-san was his daughter. Saying or doing something rude would cause Osumi-san or Master to be ashamed of him.

Osumi-san had cooked the meal, like she always did. It was really good. And though Kenshin tried to figure out how she had made it so good, it was pretty useless. Perhaps it was like she told him back then when they first met; that everyone could cook, but for some people it was art.

Master looked really distant, like he was thinking hard about something. Osumi-san and Isamu-san seemed to be aware of it, but didn’t offer any comments.

They enjoyed the meal in silence. When they were finishing up, Master said, “I am grateful for your hospitality and generosity, Isamu-san and Osumi-san. Unfortunately, I must decline. I have a duty and a student.”

Osumi-san nodded sadly. Isamu-san frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Come on, Kenshin. It’s time to go.”

He didn’t know what was going on, but everyone was really tense as they gathered their bags to leave.

Like usual, Osumi-san followed them to the gates and smiled at Master. However, her smile was far from her happy smiles. “I didn’t think that you would take it. For whatever it’s worth, I could have learned to love you.”

“And I you,” Master said in a weird voice. Kenshin didn’t know what to think of it, but the tension and sadness seemed to hang around them.

 _What were they waiting for?_ Kenshin fidgeted, wanting to get back on the road but not voicing the opinion – it wasn’t his place to interrupt.  

Then, finally, Master turned and walked to the gate.

He stopped.

And with a look over his shoulder back to Osumi-san, he whispered, “Thank you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I would encourage you to google the names mentioned in this story. The people, political statements, places… all have significance. And what Osumi meant with her warning to Kenshin was the rising tension against foreigners, which not soon after lead to murders of foreign merchants and diplomats and caused all together nasty business, such as the bombardment of Kagoshima. Btw, Shiomi family of Matsue is also something of interest, as the house has been preserved as a museum and there are wonderful pictures available.
> 
> Edited first by Chie in 2014, then again 04.01.2016 by BelovedStranger.


	12. The Burning Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, the rapid time skipping slows down again for a bit. Two things to note about Kenshin’s character and behavior in this chapter. Firstly, he is eleven years old and has finally reached a wonderful stage called puberty. Well, beginnings of it. No real growth spurts to be seen, or voice breaking yet… but there is certain belligerence that I cannot help but laugh at. Secondly, this is the closest he gets to being a normal teenage boy, ever.
> 
> After this, it will all start to roll downhill.

 

#  Chapter 11. The Burning Village

 

 

That autumn, they wandered longer than usual and it was just before the snowfall that they reached 12th Master’s house.

Master had been even more silent and serious than normal after leaving Matsue and had started to push Kenshin’s training harder. Now he was learning to mix the gymnastic and balancing training with the swordsmanship, and Master had taken to trying to teach him how to channel his ki into the blade.

Kenshin and the spirit didn’t understand much of Master’s explanations of how ki was supposed to work, because it _still_ didn’t make any sense.

However, they experimented in their own way whenever they had time alone. Not with much success, to be truthful. It felt like they had too little coldness to use. So Kenshin kept breaking down the wall. It was now about one third gone, and talking with Kenta and feeling it had become easier.

The sparring was starting to be more fun now, because Master wouldn’t restrict them to the flat ground of the field next to the hut. No, they would spar everywhere: in snow, in water, on rocks, in the forest, while running, and now that Kenshin had been allowed to experiment with agility and gymnastics during the sparring?

In one word: awesome.

Of course, he had bruises to prove what didn’t work. But the pain didn’t matter. The training was new, it was challenging and he could now try to figure out new things with Master’s blessing. It was like a dream come true. After all, he had wanted so long to figure out a way to surprise Master with little success.

_Well, of course it never works out,_ Kenshin reasoned. Master was bigger, stronger, faster and knew every strike he knew. It had been hopeless, then.

_But now?_

Kenshin grinned in excitement.

Like him, Kenta liked the demanding training as well and the two friends had taken to the challenge with enthusiasm. It was just like one of those things one just had to do, no matter how difficult or unnecessary.

_Just like figuring out how to use the ki internally,_ Kenshin sighed. _Over two years of trying and not a single breakthrough._

Master had said that the physical training had made him somewhat faster, so there was a chance the speed approach to Kenshin’s personal style could work in time. It was why Kenshin hadn’t protested much about the constant jumping, or when Master had pushed him to train in deep snow. If he couldn’t work out the speed trick with ki, he _would_ make at least the physical training work. It wasn’t like he had many options; strength was out, overpowering, reach, all the other traditional ways of gaining an edge in swordsmanship just wouldn’t work according to Master.

The sad fact was that Kenshin was just too small, too short and too thin. No matter how much he ate, he just wouldn’t get bigger.

It was frustrating, that it was.

The most notable incident during the winter of Ansei 6th was a slight cooking mishap. As was their habit, Master and student saved money on foodstuff by spending some time to gather herbs, berries and mushrooms for storage in the autumns. These would be dried and used during the long winter. So, when Kenshin had cooked some of mushrooms from his self-picked batch, stewed nicely with the complimentary rice and meat for dinner one winter day, well….

It truly was a good thing Master hadn’t been there. Kenshin truly didn’t want to know what would have happened if Master had eaten it.

As it happened, Kenshin had eaten the food straight away. It tasted the best when just cooked and there was no point in waiting for Master when the older man was in one of his moods. It hadn’t taken long for him to start seeing colors and start laugh.

Which hadn’t been that bad, at the beginning.

But when he couldn’t stop no matter how he tried, Kenshin had panicked.

Master had found him trashing on the floor, giggling, talking incoherently and crying. He had thrown a lot of their belongings around, kicked the cooking pot and broken their precious ceramic dishes. Basically, both Kenshin and the room had been a total mess.

It was only the next day when they had realized what had caused it. The dried mushrooms he had used for the food had been laughing mushrooms. Kenshin never, ever wanted to be reminded of the rant following the aftermath, or how he had been “Idiot student” for _weeks_.

In the spring, Master had gone straight to Hagi to inquire after the poems from Kawase-san. He had explained that last time the money had been surprisingly good and he didn’t want to take escorting or bodyguard jobs if he could avoid it – because this year they would go wandering further and focus on helping people.

However, when Master came out of Kawase-san’s shop, he felt and looked cold, sad, and a bit angry.

Kenshin was perplexed. Hadn’t the poems paid as well as they should have?

“No. The poems paid out better than I expected. There was just… a letter for me.”

“Oh. What did it say?”

“Osumi-san married a family friend. A Samurai. She just wanted to tell me that.”

Kenshin didn’t know what to say to that. He knew that Master and Osumi-san had liked each other, but it wasn’t like they would have ever married and settled down to make a family together. Master just wasn’t that sort of man. He didn’t even like kids or staying in one place too long. The winters with him were already hard enough, but for him to stay permanently in one place?

And if Osumi-san had wanted to marry Master, she would have already, Kenshin reasoned. So, what was the problem?

Maybe Master was just jealous?

Some people he had seen were like that. They thought they had something but when they realized it wasn’t so, they would get angry. Not to mention, some people didn’t know how to share.

_Well, in that case, I just need to distract him._

“Should I buy a hat for you?” Kenshin asked with his most mischievous grin.

“What? Why, idiot student?”

“So that I wouldn’t have to look at your face.”

“Oh, get back here you brat! And getting a hat wouldn’t even work. You are so short that even a basket wouldn’t help!”

Laughing wildly, Kenshin sprinted ahead, dodging the people in Hagi’s busy streets. Master followed at a more sedate pace.

 

* * *

 

They travelled further away to northeast that summer, heading as far as provinces of Harima, Tango and Settsu. Master had taken to clearing out the bandit camps and hunting the outlaws with more vigor than ever before, saying that he had been neglecting his duties to the sword of Mitsurugi.

Kenshin had wanted to help, but Master had forbidden it, claiming that he wasn’t good enough yet.

Which was _not true._

He had gotten better. He had almost managed to score a hit few weeks ago while they were sparring!

Besides, Kenshin was now eleven years old and he had grown enough to be a serious contender in a fight, he really had! And how was he supposed to get better at fighting if he couldn’t even fight real opponents? It wasn’t like his training had included anything _new_ in ages. It was just the same old sparring after sparring, then some boring old kata to cool down or to warm up. And some useless lectures about meditation to help with the ki, something that Kenshin didn’t want to consider about.

After all, it wasn’t like _anything_ Master said about ki worked for him and Kenta.

Not that he and spirit had managed to figure internal or external ki usage, either. Not even when combining their forces and trying time after time, but well, it wasn’t like every swordsman used ki to fight! Master had said so! Most swordsmen didn’t even know ki properly – and in comparison to other styles, it was the ki that made Hiten Mitsurugi so powerful and special. And Kenshin and Kenta would learn to use ki, they definitely would. But, for the moment, their swordsmanship was good enough already!

_And moreover, maybe if I had a real fight, maybe me and Kenta could finally figure something out?_

Besides, how cool would it be to get _serious_ ; beat the bad guys and be all heroic and stuff?

And, and…. and if Master was fighting to help people for the honor of Hiten Mitsurugi, and Kenshin was the apprentice to the style, surely it was his duty to help out, too?

Kenta agreed with all these thoughts enthusiastically. The spirit was ridiculously eager for a fight, which was a bit funny considering that it _was_ a spirit without physical means to influence the world at all.

Unfortunately, Master didn’t agree with any of these perfectly smart and logical sentiments and strictly forbade them from even _seeing_ the fights.

Kenshin and Kenta were not so easily deterred, thought. After a few close calls with them sneaking too close to the fighting, Master had finally had enough of their disobedience and left them to wait in the nearby villages whenever he intended to clear out bandits. “If you want to help the people, you can start by staying here, idiot student.”

Now in the early summer, in the sixth month of Ansei seventh, they were in the province of Settsu and Kenshin was moodily picking weeds in a small rural village house’s herb garden. The resident innkeeper, a former farmer called Kouta-san, had agreed to look after him when Master had left him here two days ago.

So, while Master was fighting the bad guys, Kenshin would get to do chores for a meal and a roof over his head. And he had been given a lot of them: washing laundry, doing dishes, carrying water, clearing out weeds from the herb gardens. Some brave warrior he was.

It was so unfair.

Kenshin had been learning to use the sword for nearly four years now! Practically forever. And he was good enough to help out. He was!

But it wasn’t all bad. The farmer had a young daughter, Miya-chan, who would come to talk to Kenshin every now and then. She was really pretty and nice. But most importantly, she _liked_ talking with him. Never mind that she, too, found his hair odd, but according to her it didn’t make him completely ugly. Or so she had said, and then giggled.  

Kenshin didn’t really understand why she would say something and giggle like that, but it didn’t sound like an insult, so he tried to ignore his flare of temper. After all, Miya was the first person around his age he could talk to in ages.

“Why do you have a sword?” she asked him when they had talked the first time.

“I am a swordsman,” he had answered. And it was the truth. But maybe, he also wanted to impress her a little bit. She was really pretty.

“Oh, do you know how to use it?”

“Of course!”

“Can you show me some time? I have never seen a boy swordsman.”

“Yes!”

And it had been so simple.

From then on, Kenshin had an audience in Miya when he did his evening practice, and she had thought him really good, too. It was like, with her, he had someone other than Kenta who was on his side. Perhaps that was why Kenshin dared to tell Miya about Master and how he had been really unfair to him lately. How he only wanted to help, but how Master seemed to scorn the very thought.

Kenshin was angry about it, truly.

According to Miya, Master _was_ unfair. How else could he learn if not by doing? Apparently, she had learned all she knew by practicing and helping out. Shouldn’t it be so with swordsmanship, too? Then, she concluded these thoughts by adding that she wouldn’t dare fight, because it would be scary.  But if Kenshin did, he must be really brave, like a hero in the stories.

Of course Kenshin agreed. All he wanted was to be a hero, just like Master. Fight the bad guys, help the innocent and protect the people. It would be really cool to protect Miya.

Kenta agreed with him – it would be just perfect to join in Master’s fights.

“Are you okay?” a nice shy voice asked all of sudden, startling him.

_Miya!_

Kenshin spun around, and grinned. “What? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You just stopped and stared ahead like forever. I have never seen anyone look like that.”

“Ehhh…” Kenshin smiled awkwardly. _What to say…_ “I just think about things like that.”

And it was a truth, just one that wasn’t anything embarrassing or mention Kenta in any way. As a rule, Kenshin didn’t tell people about Kenta – it would make him seem even weirder than he already was.

“Oh… what did you think about?” she asked with a smile.

It was a nice smile and it didn’t matter that she was missing a front tooth. For some reason, it made Kenshin feel really good when she smiled at him. “About fighting and how unfair Master is being.”

“Again?” she sounded surprised.

Kenshin looked away, reddening a bit. _Well, it might be true that I have been a bit too vocal about it. But it’s a big deal and really unfair!_

“Did you get your chores done already?” he attempted to distract her. It wouldn’t do to talk about things that she didn’t like. Otherwise, she would get bored and wouldn’t like him anymore!

“Yes, almost. I still have to sweep the front yard.”

He smiled at her. “And that can wait until the evening.”

She nodded at him, pleased that he noted things like that. The day he had come here, she had explained that it didn’t make any sense to sweep the yard in the middle of the day – it would only get the dust everywhere and she would have to do it again later when the farmers came back from the fields.

“So, you don’t have anything to do now?” Kenshin didn’t want to seem too eager but he was hopeful.

“Yes. I can keep you company. Have you a lot left?”

_Yes! Yes! Yes!_

“Ah, some. But we can talk while I do them!”

So no, staying in the village wasn’t really all that bad.

 

* * *

 

They had talked all afternoon. After Kenshin finished his chores, Miya had taken him to tour the village. It was a really small one and almost empty, with most residents working on the fields.

They had been talking about training and fighting. Miya had admitted that she, too, would like to be brave and learn to fight. Kenshin had told her that of course she could. It wasn’t like being brave was something only boys were allowed to be!

She had been doubtful about that.

They were just heading back to Miya’s house when they saw movement and some dust rising on the road in the distance.

“Do you think it’s your Master?”

“I don’t know, but he was supposed to be back today.”

“If it is, does that mean you will be leaving?”

“Well, if it is, I have to leave. Where he goes, I follow.”

“I guess so…” she said unhappily.

“I don’t think it’s Master. There is too much dust.”

“But who else would it be? No one comes here.”

“Another traveler?”

“No. There are two… We should head back home.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“No. Those are horses.”

“You don’t like horses?” Kenshin asked dubiously. He loved the big animals, and liked watching them whenever he saw them. And it was usually the Samurai who rode them when keeping the peace.

“I like horses just fine,” Miya said testily, but led the way, almost running back to the house.

Kenshin followed. _What’s going on with her?_

“Father! There are horses coming!” Miya yelled when they got in.

Miya’s father, Kouta-san, had been a farmer until he had lost his hand. He used to be a real good at it too, or so Miya had told him, but after the accident he had to sell his land, and now he just looked after the property.

“Are you sure, Miya-chan?” he asked frantically.

“Yes. I saw them; there were two riders.”

“This is bad. Your brothers haven’t gotten back from Osaka yet.” The older man frowned. “Let’s see if we can reason with them.”

“Who do you think is coming, Kouta-san?” Kenshin hesitantly asked. It didn’t sound like the innkeeper and Miya were happy at all.

“Oh, I am quite sure that they are Samurai from the Kuto clan. You had better stay inside, boy,” the older man said bit more harshly. Then he frowned, and looked worried. “This doesn’t concern you. The same goes for you too, Miya-chan.”

With those words, the farmer stepped outside.

Kenshin glanced at Miya, who looked worried, too. He smiled, and tilted his head in a silent question, and sneaked next to the wall to listen in. He wanted to know what was going on.

Miya shook her head in denial.

He waved his hand in silent invitation.

She looked at him, frowned again but then smiled a bit.

He smiled and held out his hand.

She took a step…

He raised a finger to his lips, shushed and then smiled. Then turned to look and listen in.

Miya tiptoed nearly silently next to him. Kenshin smiled, happy to have someone with him. Kouta-san was outside. The farmer felt cold, worried and angry.

_Why is he angry?_

There were two new ki presences, just like Miya had said and sounds of horses’ hooves beating on the road.

And then there they were, samurai riding on horses. They had their paired swords, hair done in top-knot and they were dressed in fine kimono and hakama. But they didn’t look very friendly, their sword spirit felt cold. Reserved. Prepared.

_For what?_

Whatever it was, Kouta-san seemed to have a reason to worry. Kenshin frowned. ‘What do you think?’ he asked Kenta, allowing it to look through his eyes.

‘They look like Master when he has decided to do something,’ the spirit whispered.

It was the same impression Kenshin had gotten, but compared to Master these men didn’t seem like warriors. Oh, they were Samurai, definitely. At least, judging from manner and their dress, but though they had swords, they weren’t very fit. One was tall and thin, and reminded Kenshin quite a bit of Master’s poetry publisher Kawase-san. The other looked like an older fighter, scarred and mean, but at the same time it was clear that while he had once been in shape, nowadays he was too fond of food and sake to keep practicing.

“Are you Kouta of Arino?” the thin one asked on his perch on his horse. He sounded strict and commanding and looked at Miya’s father like he was a bug or something nasty.

The older, meaner looking one dismounted. Miya shivered next to Kenshin, looking scared. Kenshin glanced at her and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. Girls can be brave, too.” He smiled encouragingly.

She smiled back. Her front teeth showed and the lack of one didn’t make the smile any less pretty.

‘Focus,’ Kenta whispered and nudged him.

“I am Kouta.”

“Good. By the order of our Lord Kuto, in the name of Shogun’s decree and taxes, I will confiscate your property and evict you from the grounds.”

_What?_ Kenshin’s eyes widened in shock. That… that would mean that Miya would lose her home!

There was a frightened gasp behind him.

“What? No! My sons are in Osaka selling our valuables. I will have the money for taxes when they come back!”

“My lord doesn’t wait for empty promises.”

“Please, have some mercy! If you could wait just a few days! My sons are coming soon!” Kouta-san bowed deeply, tried to touch the thin one’s trouser leg.

“Don’t touch your betters, you boor,” the older fighter spat out and kicked Kouta-san.

Miya had begun to cry in terror. Kenshin couldn’t believe his eyes. He, too, was shaking in disbelief and fright.

“Please,” the farmer begged.

“These maggots don’t understand proper speech these days. Just torch the building. The land is worth more without the hovel,” the thin one said to the older fighter.

“Yes, that will work. Insures that the tenants leave, too,” the older one agreed, absently kicking Kouta-san to the side. They heard a crack and Miya’s father cried out in pain.

The Samurai grunted and spat, saying to Kouta-san, “Just take your stuff and leave.”

Before Kenshin could even realize what was happening, Miya shot out through the door to her father. “Father!” she yelled. “Father, are you alright?” Kouta-san was wheezing, trying to endure the pain.

Miya looked angry. Angrier than Kenshin had ever seen her, and she yelled at the Samurai. “How could you treat Father so… You, you ugly and unfair and, and… evil men!”

“Hoo! The little girl has courage. More than the father,” the old one said. “Just let it go, girl. Our lord has spoken and decreed it so.”

The thin one dismounted the horse, and looked at the girl, smirking. “You know, little girl. For those words, I could kill you. An insult to your betters is a crime punishable by death.”

“No! Don’t touch my daughter! She didn’t mean it! She is just a little girl! She doesn’t know better! Have some mercy!”

“You still don’t know your place, peasant. No, you are not even that. You are without land, wealth, possessions, even health. You are no one. Who are you to give me orders?” the thin one sneered. “Just for that, yes. I think I will.”

And he pulled out his sword…

_No. No. This can’t be happening!_

Miya’s eyes were huge and round. She had knelt next to Kouta-san, who was begging on the ground, shaking, as low as a man could go. His forehead touched the ground.

_It looks so wrong._

The older fighter was rummaging around his saddlebags and clearly he didn’t see anything wrong going on.  

_Miya looks so scared._

Kouta-san had told Kenshin to stay inside. But how could he stay inside? Hadn’t he boasted earlier to Miya that he was a swordsman? Hadn’t he wanted to be a hero?

_Those samurai are wrong and evil! And Miya looks so scared._ There was no one else stopping them, no one but him. He was a warrior – a hero. Kenshin swallowed. Kenta nudged at him. ‘Yes. Let’s go. We can take them.’

Kenshin stepped out.

Before he could open his mouth, the thin one noticed him. “Oho, a foreign brat, too. What are you doing here? Where is your family?”

“I am not a foreigner!” Kenshin bristled. “And I have no family.” And then, because it was just like what Master would have said, “You don’t need to know more, just let them go! I will protect Miya and Kouta-san!”

“You will protect them? With what? With that little knife you have there? Hah! A foreigner brat carrying a Japanese sword. There is something very wrong with that.” Before Kenshin could say and do anything more, the other one had lit a torch and then flippantly threw it at the roof of the house.

“You can’t do that!”

“Yes, we can and we will. We have orders to do so,” the thin one sneered at him. Kenshin had never felt angry like this before. He wanted to _hurt_ the thin one. He wanted to defeat the Samurai and rescue Miya! Glaring at the Samurai, he put his hand on his sword and concentrated utterly on the Samurai standing lazily next to the horse and stepped forward, ready for a sprint…

“Urgh.” Kenshin choked.

_What?_

Someone was holding him by his throat!

_I can’t breathe!_

Kenshin clawed at the hand on his throat, tears swelling in his eyes. A hand slipped around his sword, lifted it and threw it to the thin one. “Here, one more for your collection, Jurou-san.”

Miya cried next to her father. Kouta-san was _still_ bowing, but glanced up to murmur appealingly, “The boy is not with us. Just take him and leave my daughter. Please”

_No. No… This can’t be happening. It’s just like before…_

Kenshin felt helpless. He had trained hard to use the sword. But how could he protect others when he couldn’t even save himself?

Tears welled in his eyes.

_No. Giving up is not an option._

Kenshin tried to kick, to claw, twist…

Nothing worked. The grip around his throat was too strong.

_No._

He was helpless.

_Too small, too weak._

_Not again!_

‘Help.’

Kenta rammed at the wall separating them, and Kenshin could feel it trying.

‘Help.’

And then, the spirit _leaned_ through the wall.

It was like his body moved on his own. A kick and the hold on their throat loosened. They drew breath, sprinted, and crouched to take their sword and _stabbed_.

The blood sprayed all over them.

The two didn’t care. It was not the time for that. They turned to look back. The old Samurai was crouching, trying to breathe, hands holding to protect his crotch. He looked up and swore harshly, straightened, and drew out his sword. “Son of a bitch, I will kill you!”

The two dodged the slow overhead blow and struck through the loose stance. The blade sunk deep, sliced through cloth and skin and bowels.

A thud echoed behind them.

They tried to breathe but couldn’t. Their heart was beating so fast, it was like it was bursting out of their rib-cage. Breathe! They needed to breathe! But they couldn’t see anything.

_Just the smell of blood… blood…. blood…._

Screaming.

Someone was screaming… Shouts.

_They were so tired… tired…_

 

* * *

 

Shouting.

Smoke was making it hard to breathe. Something crackled loudly.

“…couldn’t see him moving. They just dropped dead, dead…”

“What are you going to do?”

“What will I do? What will I do?! They will kill me for this! Hunt me down and kill me.”

“Focus! You didn’t do this. You couldn’t have done this and even they can see it.”

“Who knows what they will see and do? Samurai always do as they please. My family! What will I do?”

“Leave. Disappear. If they find you and question you, just tell the truth.”

“The truth? And what will I tell them? A demon killed their comrades? A demon that a man’s eyes couldn’t see? A demon…”

Laughing.

“For whatever it is worth, I am sorry. Here, take this. With that money, change your name and start anew.”

“I cannot be thankful to you. You brought this to my family… Just take the demon-child and go. Leave us be.”

“Very well.”

And strong arms lifted them.

They felt safe, but so tired _._ What was the smoke and crackling sound? They tried to open their eyes just to see.

Behind them was a village covered in flames.

It was burning.

_Oh, so that’s what the crackling was..._

 

* * *

 

He woke up slowly, head hurting like someone was pounding a hammer on his temples.

_Ow…_

There was a crackle of fire next to him.

_Burning…?_

_The village is burning! No!_

He opened his eyes.

_Ow_ – _hurts!_

He swayed.

It was a campfire. There was the sky, a dark evening sky. There was a forest all around him, clothes hanging from a tree; his shirt, pants and a large white cloak.

_My clothes!_

_What am I wearing?_

He glanced down… Oh. He had his spare shirt on. _My shirt..._

“I see you are finally awake, Kenshin.”

_Master!_

The older man was sitting by the campfire, stoking the flames.

_But Kenshin… Kenshin was… is… not me..?_

‘Who am I?’’

A memory tingled within his reach. Two men, a thin one and an old one wearing swords. A little girl, Miya, crying. Her father begging on the ground…

He touched his brow. _What happened…?_

“Kenshin.”

Kenshin was his name, but he was not Kenshin.

Another memory, this time of a boy. ‘ _I really like my name. I thought you could have a name too… Kenta.’_

But he was not Kenta, either. Kenta, Kenshin… He was neither of the two. He was both.

“Kenshin. Look at me. Take your head out of the clouds and look at me. That’s right, boy. Focus.”

It was Master; he was holding their head. Master looked really worried. Why was he worried? They looked at him because Master told them to.

“Good boy. Follow my finger with your eyes.”

They did because they were a good boy. They had always wanted to be a good boy. They couldn’t care less about being a good boy. They slowly moved their gaze around, and the headache was there, but they were still so tired. So, so tired.

“Tired,” they told Master, because the swordsman had always wanted to know when they couldn’t continue and then they closed their eyes.

“No, you idiot student. You cannot fall asleep. Concentrate!”

‘Idiot…’

They really hated being called an idiot. They weren’t an idiot. They didn’t mind being called an idiot. It just showed that Master cared about them.

_Ow, ow, ow. It hurts so badly._

“There is something wrong with your ki.”

_Ki?_

The coldness. The wall. The spirit, it had flowed through the wall. _Through_ the wall. The wall that separated the two...

_The wall!_

They concentrated, yes. The wall was there, with a hole in it. But the spirit wasn’t behind it. It was on the wrong side. They were together on this side.

Their head hurt. They were tired and confused, but they didn’t like the hurt. They wanted the pain to stop.

_Yes, the wall and the hole._

‘Back to the other side…’ one thought. The other agreed. ‘Must get back to the other side.’

“Focus boy! You need to stay awake! Don’t you dare to fall asleep!”

_Asleep?_

_No, they couldn’t sleep with this hurt. It's wrong like this. Hurt._

Ki. The coldness. Kenta was coldness. Coldness… There, it was cold. To the other side of the wall. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, they drew the coldness to the hole in the wall. To home, to the other side. It flowed like a trickle of water through the hole.

The pain grew less and then they slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited first by Chie in 2014, then again 05.03.2016 by BelovedStranger.


	13. Aftermaths

# Chapter 12. Aftermaths

 

Hiko watched the boy sleep.

When he had returned to the tiny village after his mission to clear out the local bandit camps and the few Ronin who had been terrorizing the area, he had seen the burning farm house from a long distance. It was a clear sign that something was seriously wrong and what had he found? Two dead samurai, one stabbed to the heart and the second one disemboweled. And of course to make matters even more complicated, the farmer he had left in charge of his apprentice and the man’s little girl had both been senseless in hysteria.

It hadn’t been difficult to piece together the whole picture. He should have known not to leave Kenshin alone. In hindsight, it had been a mistake but this? This was just _impossible_.

Hiko had been ready to shout his lungs hoarse for the boy’s idiocy.

After all, killing a samurai was a serious crime. But to kill samurai who were on a mission for their lord?

Heads would roll for that crime.

The old farmer knew it, too. So Hiko had given the old man most of his money and told him to gather his family and disappear. Then he had gathered his unconscious idiot student in his arms and taken off.

While Kenshin’s unconscious state worried Hiko, it wasn’t a priority, not in the face of trouble of this magnitude. Now, his main concern was to get away before those samurai would be missed. He had no intention of letting his only apprentice be caught and sentenced to death for this utter _stupidity._ Unfortunately, the boy wasn’t exactly difficult to recognize, and the old farmer would definitely rat them out to anyone asking.

Well, not that Hiko could begrudge the old man for it. After all, what other protection a crippled farmer had for his family but sacrificing some kid who had got himself into trouble? No, it wouldn’t be even a difficult choice for that man.

There was no doubt that soon every samurai, guardsman, town official and busybody in the region would know that a red haired young man with a sword had murdered two samurai in Settsu. It didn’t matter if anyone would believe it – the word would get out and the rumor would carry it further. And the first places they would check were the border posts, which made leaving the province a high priority.

Hiko made haste as long as he could before finally daring to stop for rest. He washed their clothing, acutely conscious of how the bloodstains would attract attention and catch wandering eyes like honey did flies. Then he had checked on the kid and noticed, to his concern, that Kenshin was still unconscious, even after an entire evening of hurried travel.

 _What’s wrong with him?_ Hiko didn’t know but a few reasons why anyone would stay unconscious that long and none of them were good.

As he feared when the boy woke up a few hours later, he was in great pain and disoriented as all hell.

Even worse, though awake, Kenshin wasn’t all there in the head.

 _He doesn’t react to even his own name!_ _Goddammit, it’s possible the boy has gotten a concussion and started bleeding in the skull!_  Hiko cursed inwardly and checked the kid’s head again for wounds and bumps.

Nothing.

Hiko sighed in relief, and ran through the basics once more. Kenshin’s eyes followed stimuli well and the kid could hear, but it wouldn’t do for the kid to fall asleep. Anything could happen with head injuries. He wasn’t sure if this was one, but what else it could be?

The kid’s swordspirit was behaving oddly. Hiko had never felt Kenshin’s ki behaving like that and he was startled enough to mark it aloud, and dammit, again, loss of focus in those pale eyes. Yelling the boy’s name did nothing, nor did shaking him or any other primitive measure he could resort to. However, all of a sudden, Kenshin blinked, and then frowned, his ki began settling down. Just like that. Then in a span of a few breaths, it felt almost normal again and the boy fell asleep.

Hiko wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but with Kenshin resting more normally, it seemed that the worst was over. Or it would be, if he could just manage to outrun rumors and loose tongues.

It took him two days to get out of the province. Before approaching the border post he removed his cloak, rolled it inside his bedroll and covered Kenshin’s hair. Both were far too memorable. On a side thought, he took the kid’s wakizashi and slipped it through his own sash.

The border post guard was hostile as usual and when he demanded their names, Hiko answered, “Ronin Hiroto and apprentice Shinta, travelling back to Nagato."

The guard marked it down in the ledger sourly, before asking, “What’s wrong with the kid?”

“Fell sick,” Hiko bit out curtly, adjusting his hold on the boy.

After a slight hesitation, the guard finally nodded and let them through.

Hiko nearly sighed in relief. So the word hadn’t got out yet. He had been faster than he thought, then. However, it was better not to risk it and try to pass another border as fast as he could. After all, if he was forced to fight, it would only stir the flames.

Kenshin’s continuous exhaustion kept worrying him, but as the kid woke up occasionally and was willing to eat and drink, he was finally beginning to relax. It was only on the road from Bizen to Kurashiki that the boy finally seemed to be getting better.

Well, sort of.

 

* * *

 

Kenshin woke up only to blink, as his eyes watered from the brightness of the day. The sun was high up in the sky and he was being carried, by—

_But why would Master carry me?_

"You are awake again. Good. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes,” Kenshin murmured. It was an unabashed truth, his throat was parched.

Master handed him the water jug, the one that he always carried at his waist, but didn’t stop walking. Kenshin drank greedily. He felt weak, even the sheer effort of drinking was exhausting and he gave the jug back, settling to rest his head on Master’s shoulder.

After a moment of tiredly glancing around and having absolutely no idea where they were headed, he finally asked, “Where are we?”

“The coastal road to Kurashiki. We are at Bizen province at the moment.”

“Oh… It goes through Aki?” Kenshin asked idly, trying to focus on the present and to locate them on his mental map of the countryside he had collected through the years.

“Yes.”

“What happened?” It was strange, but for some reason he didn’t have any idea how they had gotten here. Last he remembered was being so very tired.

“What do you remember?”

_Remember?_

_The spirit, the wall, confusion._ Kenshin pressed his fingers to his brow and frowned, trying to focus. _There was a fire, screaming and blood. Samurai – Miya!_

“Miya! What happened to Miya?”

“The little girl, the farmer’s daughter back in Settsu?”

“Yes, her. What happened to her?”

“Hmmph. I cannot say. She was fine the last I saw her. She had gone to fetch her mother from the field. Her father was quite upset. I gave them money and told them to leave and start again somewhere else.”

“That’s good. So she was okay?”

“Well, other than having her home burned down and witnessing a murder, I would say she was alright.”

_Murder?_

_Yes, those samurai died. But why? How?_

_And the house had been burning?_

“Why did the house burn?”

“I don’t know. The little I managed to gather from Kouta-san suggested that the samurai had burned it because of debts. Speaking of samurai, want to tell me why they died?”

“I…. I, they were threatening Kouta-san. Broke his rib and all. Miya got upset and tried to help her father. She got angry and yelled at them,” Kenshin stuttered, trying to remember why, why _…_ “She called them bad names, and, and… the thin one wanted to kill her for insulting him. Drew his blade and everything. I… I wanted to protect her. Kouta-san didn’t do anything useful to help her, just begged for mercy, it was so wrong—”

“Wanted to protect her, huh?”

“Yes.”

“So? What happened?”

 _What happened? What did I do?_ It was getting harder to remember. He had been so angry. Scared, too, but he had wanted to be a hero, so—

“I told them to let go of her. They called me a foreigner and, and asked how I would protect Miya and Kouta-san. The saw my sword and said that it was wrong for _me_ to carry a _sword_. I was so angry. I wanted to hurt the thin one and then… someone choked me. Took my sword. Threw it away like it was _thrash_. I couldn’t breathe, I felt so helpless, and angry and useless, and, and…”

“Breathe, boy. Calm down. That’s it. No reason to get upset. What is done is done. Just tell me what happened.”

Kenshin swallowed, trying to gather his erratic thoughts. “I don’t know what happened, but I think I kicked the one holding me, took the sword and… and then I, I _stabbed_ the thin one. But then the other one attacked and I didn’t have time to think, so I dodged and struck through his stance just like you taught me and… oh.”

“What _oh_?”

“I think I killed them,” Kenshin whispered, his eyes widening.

_I killed them_

_Oh god, I killed samurai._

_No, no, no!_

“Yes you did. Quite cleanly, in fact. One was stabbed through the heart and the other disemboweled. Effective,” Master said calmly.

Of course Master would be calm! Master, he killed people _._ But Kenshin had never killed _anyone_.

“What I don’t understand is why you felt the need to interfere in the first place. They were samurai. They were in their legal rights to drive away the tenants from the land owned by their lord. In fact, they were just doing their duty.”

Kenshin tried to find the words, still reeling over the realization that his hands were stained with blood now. But legal rights? Duty?

“They were ordering Miya and Kouta-san out of their home! They didn’t listen when Kouta-san said that he would have money soon. That his sons were coming home with the money to pay for taxes.”

“They didn’t need to listen to Kouta. They had been given orders and it was their duty to obey.”

“But, they threatened to kill Miya for saying a bad word!”

“Which they still had a legal right to do.”

“But it’s WRONG! How could it be right?”

“It’s the way things are. It’s not nice nor is it pretty. So, you killed them for that, huh?”

“Yes.” Kenshin whispered. Put like that, it sounded really bad, didn’t it?

“It’s a crime to kill a samurai. It’s a crime punishable by death to interfere with their duties,” Master observed quietly, his ki feeling really cold.

“I know."

"So why did you do it?”

“I… I thought that they were bad men and they were threatening innocents. So, I wanted to do as you do. Like you say Hiten Mitsurugi should be used.”

“Hmmm.”

“Was I wrong?” Kenshin asked, frightened. Yet somehow, Master didn’t seem angry. A bit disappointed maybe, but not angry.

 _Those samurai were bad men. They were, I know it. But if they were in their legal rights, doesn't that mean they were right according to the law?_ Kenshin paused in thought. He hesitated, because he still didn’t think he had been wrong to stop them. But what would it mean, if bad men could do bad things and it was right by the law?

“I am not saying you were wrong to try to protect the girl. But you were wrong to _interfere_. If you hadn’t butted in – the way you did – then the situation may or may not have gone better or worse, but you wouldn’t be in trouble with the law.”

 _In trouble with the law…_ Kenshin inhaled sharply, the realization finally starting to sink in.

“What I am trying to say is that there were better ways to deal with the situation.”

_I killed samurai. A crime. A deed punishable by death._

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“For trying to obey the creed of Hiten Mitsurugi? For protecting the innocents? Nothing from the authorities, if I have anything to say about it. But from me? Oh, you will be getting a lesson you will never forget about obeying orders and using common sense. Not now, but when we are back home and you are healthy.” Master scoffed. “Idiot student.”

It didn’t sound so bad. And for once, it felt good to be called ‘idiot student’. It meant that he was still a student. Master wasn’t going to give him up.

Kenshin yawned quietly, exhaustion weighing on him.

“Hmmm. Getting tired again? Just sleep. I will wake you up for dinner.”

So he slept.

 

* * *

 

_Blood._

The smell of blood. It was so tangy and heavy—

_Disgusting._

It was creeping up his nostrils and rising to his mouth. He wanted to heave, but he couldn’t. He was drowning in it. It was drenching him all over.

_Blood. Shouts. Screaming—_

“Aaaaahh!”

Silence.

_Why did it stop?_

_Oh… It was me that was screaming._ Desperately gulping for air, Kenshin tried to keep breathing, his heart beating rabbit fast.

“Boy! Kenshin! Focus!”

_Inhale, exhale. Why is breathing so difficult?_

He tried to look up where his Master’s voice was coming from, but why were his eyes so foggy?

 _Oh_ , he was crying.

“Breathe, boy. Just breathe. It’s over now.”

_In and out. In and out._

Slowly, his breathing became easier and his heart no longer tried to jump out of his chest.

“It was just a dream, Kenshin. Calm down.”

He was calm. He was! But a dream? Since when had dreams been so real? And why did he still feel wet? There was no blood here.

He looked down.

_Oh._

He had wet the bed.

 

* * *

 

The next day after finally getting a coherent discussion out of Kenshin, it became clear that not everything was right with the boy; the nightmares had started again. For the first time in three years, the boy was screaming through the night and wetting the bed.

It was disgraceful.

The boy was a teenager now, for god’s sake!

But then again, Kenshin had killed. Death wasn’t a nice thing for anyone to witness, never mind of doing the deed by himself. And though the boy was growing up, well, he was still a kid. A kid with a history of mental trauma and an impressive collection of bad memories.

So really, it wasn’t all that surprising.

They kept travelling, and though he usually wouldn’t have bothered, Hiko carried Kenshin when he couldn’t keep going, because it was impossible to say how far and how fast the word of the murders would go out. There was a good chance that the crime would be forgotten with enough distance to dim the memories.

After all, such disturbances were happening all over the country.

It had lead to increasingly harsher punishments as the Bakufu tried to control the situation. However, now with the rumors of a _foreigner_ murdering samurai mixed into the mess, the hearsay could fly off the handle and still the tense situation into full-blown chaos. The safest thing would be to lay low and wait for it to blow over and for that they needed to get back to 12th master’s house in Nagato.

Kenshin was getting better, but the loss of sleep was hindering his recovery. Hiko still didn’t know why the boy was so wiped out. There was no logical reason to it and the boy didn’t have any noticeable injuries.

But then again, Hiko was coming to strongly suspect that ki was involved and that was something he couldn’t make better in any way. No, the best he could do was wait and hope for the best.

In Suo province, they finally heard the rumors of a foreigner killing samurai in the countryside and that the Kuto clan was screaming for blood. Rumors also told that the foreigner hadn’t been alone – he had travelled with a Ronin.

Some of the rumors were so wildly inaccurate that Hiko wasn’t too worried. The foreigner had shot the samurai because all foreigners used guns. The foreigner had fallen in love with a girl and had dueled over her. The foreigner had rounded together a Ronin army and attacked the provincial government. The Ronin army built by the foreigner was attempting to overthrow the Shogunate.

In fact, many of the rumors were almost amusing in their inaccuracy.

But in the midst of all this nonsense and blithering lies by the bored and stupid, there were two things that always stayed the same: the foreigner had killed samurai and a Ronin had helped him escape. Which made Hiko’s and Kenshin’s current identities risky – it wasn’t exactly a difficult puzzle to piece together the facts, given his swords and the boy’s alien coloring.

So whenever on public roads, Hiko carried his swords hidden in their bedroll and had Kenshin’s hair covered with scarf ripped from the hem of his Kimono.

It was almost a month later when they finally reached home.

_Home._

When had the old cottage become home?

 

* * *

 

Kenshin was once again washing his soiled bedding and clothes. He hated this. He was almost a man, not a little kid. So why did this keep happening? Thankfully, Master didn’t remark on his shame, just tactfully ignored him on mornings like these.

“The dreams will run their course,” the older man kept saying.

But the nights filled with the smell of blood, screaming and shouting didn’t seem to let go.

And more than anything else, Kenshin was ashamed.

The spirit kept comforting him, petting him and reminding him that they had saved Miya, that they had been right. Even Master hadn’t thought that it had been wrong of him to _kill_.

But still, Kenshin couldn’t help feeling guilty and somehow stained.

When he dared to ask about it once more, Master had answered like he always had. “A sword is a weapon. Swordsmanship is the art of killing. Whatever pretty words you use, this is its true nature.” Then Master nodded and added thoughtfully, “Kenshin, as a student of swordsmanship, you will need to understand this; killing is a fact of life. However, what you need is to use your _sense_ to consider _who_ you should kill. Hiten Mitsurugi is an ancient style created for the protection of the weak, but how it should be used for this purpose…that is what you need to learn.”

Kenshin nodded, but though the words made sense, well sort of, the lecture didn’t make him feel better. He knew the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi and had thought he _understood_ it.

He knew that killing was necessary. There were evil people who needed to be killed. Hiten Mitsurugi was used for this purpose. Master was adamant on that. But Master kept saying he needed to understand who should be killed – and from which deaths the weak benefitted the most.

It wasn’t very helpful.

_The smell of blood, and the screams…_

Even amidst the throes of the worst guilt, fears and doubts, Kenshin didn’t think he had been wrong to kill the samurai to protect Miya. But at the same time, there was the fact that they had been in their _legal rights_ to demand _her life_ for the insult she had offered.

Did that mean that the law was wrong? Somehow, the thought kept coming back to him. It seemed too large a concept to even think about. But if the law was wrong…

What could be done about it?

Kenshin didn’t know.

Kenta didn’t know either. Truthfully, Kenshin didn’t even dare to follow the thought further. But still, somehow, the idea kept haunting his thoughts.

During their travel, Master had kept covering his hair and Kenshin had endured the indignity, for people had always stared and noticed it and now that the rumors kept going about the murder of the samurai… Well, while Kenshin didn’t think he had been wrong, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he couldn’t get into trouble for it.

He didn’t want to die.

He just wanted to hide.

Master agreed with him.

They arrived to the 12th Master’s house early that year. At the beginning of autumn, about two moons earlier than ever before. Master said that they wouldn’t be leaving for a while. Not while the rumors kept going strong.

So they trained.

The good thing about training was that it allowed Kenshin to sleep better; the exhaustion seemed to drive away the dreams. It was a good thing, because he hated dreaming of blood.

Training consisted mainly of sparring and hard physical training. All the things that he knew already, but it didn’t matter. But it was only a few weeks later when Master asked to see his sword during a break from the exercise. Obediently, he gave it to the older man.

Master stroked his chin and looked thoughtful. “There is something wrong with your form. Here, try this.”

And then, Master Hiko gave the _Winter Moon_ to him.

Kenshin stared at it in a stunned silence.

_What’s going on?_

_Master never lets anyone touch his sword. Anyone!_

He swallowed, but hesitantly accepted the sleek wooden scabbard. Kenshin had always admired the blade, it was so beautiful; long, strong, simple but elegant.

“Don’t stare at it like an idiot. Just try it out. I need to see something.”

With no further prompting, Kenshin drew it. The sword felt odd – _heavy_. But it didn’t feel wrong. The familiar forms of kata just flowed, and the blade felt like it was made for this and Kenshin smiled in exhilaration and sped up the dancing motions of the practiced forms.

“Stop.”

Kenshin looked at Master in silent question, a bit disappointed at having to stop so soon. But Hiko tapped Kenshin’s old wakizashi idly with his fingers. “I was right. This blade is getting too short for you. If I hadn’t seen it, I would have never believed it. You are as short as ever, but still, to regain your proper form, you will need a proper katana.”

“Oh.”

Reluctantly, Kenshin handed the _Winter Moon_ back to Master, and took his wakizashi. In comparison to the other blade it felt awkward; too short, too light.

The next day, Master packed up for travel.

“I will be out for a while. In the interim, stay here and _keep out of trouble_.”

“What? But I want to come with you!”

“No. Alone, the people don’t think much of me; I am but a ronin among many others. But with you? They will look and remember the rumors. It’s too dangerous for you to travel.”

And that was that.

Being alone in an empty house didn’t sit well with Kenshin. Everything was too silent, the house creaked and echoed and somehow it was little bit scary. It was but an hour later that he felt like going mad, alone with his thoughts and fears and doubts and so he turned to the spirit.

Kenta was happy of this development.

Together they trained throughout the whole afternoon, late into dusk, trying to keep going – to let the exhaustion chase away the dreams. It didn’t work very well. For some reason, it seemed stupid to wave the sword around or keep up his physical training now that the Master wasn’t there to supervise.

But at breakfast a couple days later, interrupting Kenshin’s brooding about the dreams and memories of the dying samurai, Kenta brought up a good point. 'You were too weak to do anything, but when this spirit flowed through the wall to your side, we were stronger and faster.’

'Huh?’

'We were.’

Kenshin chewed on his meal of rice and miso, and tried to remember.

_The hand choking me… I had almost given up, and then Kenta came and suddenly it was easy to take the sword. To stab. Dodge. Slash._

It had been _easy_.

They were samurai. It shouldn’t have been easy for a boy to kill them.

But it _had_ been.

He swallowed.

'You are right.’ Kenshin uttered, sitting there in stunned silence, the rice bowl cooling in his still hand. Yes, together they had been stronger and faster. And that meant…

“Internal ki usage to strengthen the body,” he said out loud.

'Yes,’ the spirit whispered, clearly pleased.

Kenshin began to smile. Because that meant they had cracked it. Three years of trying and they had finally figured it out – the trick on how to use the ki for speed, for higher jumps, for strength that all the advanced strikes of Hiten Mitsurugi demanded. The trick that he had been so desperate to learn, that he had kept failing to grasp.

Even though all three of them had been trying to figure it out, Master with his lectures that didn’t make any sense, him trying and constantly failing and the spirit always helping, but not knowing anything more than Kenshin himself.

And now, this was it. The trick was to flow _through_ the wall.

So, how to do it again?

The spirit nudged him happily.

_Yes, that makes sense. We need to do it together._

The next few days passed quickly as Kenshin and the spirit experimented. They both remembered how tired it had made them when Kenta ended up fully on his side of the wall and it had hurt. So, they tried to learn the trick to get the spirit to flow through the wall and back in small doses.

And it was _anything_ but easy.

However, they were determined and they both wanted it so bad.

The great breakthrough came a week after the initial realization. Kenta had managed to push against the cracks of the wall in just the right way and started to slip through. But it immediately stopped pushing and just flowed.

And only _some_ coldness made through.

'Now. Try to do it now,’ Kenta urged.

Kenshin jumped.

_Oh wow, I have never jumped this high!_

He had to be at least seven feet in the air, before he glanced down and—

“Aaaaah!”

Dropped.

_Ow. Ow. Ow._

Kenta retreated.

Kenshin panted, tried to control the pain, and rubbed his legs. Nothing was twisted. Thank the gods, but still his legs smarted badly from the high fall.

_Ow._

But it had worked!

'Yes!’ Kenta cheered.

Kenshin smiled triumphantly.

_Now, let’s do it again._

 

* * *

 

Kenshin lay on the ground, panting and staring at the clouds. It was exhausting to use the ki internally – mere moments of channeling ki into his body and he would be completely wiped out. But it seemed that now that they had figured it out, it really did work. And it worked with everything: he could run fast, draw the sword fast, strike fast and jump high.

And when he had tried to cut a tree out of curiosity, the blade had sliced clean through! Just like Master’s strikes!

It was like Master had said: using ki internally really made it possible to do the impossible moves that Hiten Mitsurugi demanded.

But it was hard to keep it up and the control, well, Kenta tried to control how much it pushed but it didn’t always manage to slip the right amount of ki to Kenshin’s side. So occasionally the spirit pushed too much, and sometimes too little. And there seemed to be a limit of how much they could use before starting to tire out.

And to make it harder, it took time for the spirit to concentrate _just so_. Kenta had explained that the cracks in the wall were hard to figure out. Kenshin had suggested of trying the same through the hole in the wall, but spirit thought that it wouldn’t work. It would make the trickle of ki like an arrow when it needed to be spread out like a rainfall, to gently and widely touch Kenshin’s side.

It made sense.

They still needed to figure out a way to do it faster. It wouldn’t help much in fight if they needed to stop to concentrate before doing it.

But right now, everything was _great_.

Maybe now they could convince Master to show the special moves of Hiten Mitsurugi. They had so wanted to get to practice those, especially after they had managed to sneak a peek at Master’s private training. It had looked so cool to see it.

Speaking of Master, they would need to show the swordsman that they had realized the trick! Maybe they could surprise him? Master would be _stunned._ Maybe even proud! Maybe this would erase the constant frown and quiet disappointment the older man had had on his face since the summer’s catastrophe?

If nothing else, Master had always wanted him to succeed with ki.

And maybe Kenshin wasn’t such a big disappointment now that he had figured out the ki – after all, the spiritual energy was apparently something most people never learned because it was “ _extremely difficult and dangerous to use.”_

Actually, hadn’t Master made him promise to never practice with ki outside his supervision, just because it was so dangerous all those years back?

_Uh oh…_

“Oops.”

 

* * *

 

Hiko had decided to head out to Hagi for the kid’s katana. The town was a focus point for Choshuu samurai and there were some decently capable swordsmiths in the city. And besides, he could check out with Kawase-san about his poems. He was low on funds, and if Kawase-san wasn’t willing to pay him… Well, he would need to find a job to gather enough money for buying a sword.

Fortunately, Kawase-san was glad to continue their profitable relationship and was willing to pay in advance, yet again. Hiko gave the publisher what he had written out during the season, and agreed to deliver more poems when he had them.

With the money in hand, he headed in search of a smith. It wasn’t exactly ideal to look for a sword for someone who was still growing and wasn’t with you to test it, but Hiko knew his apprentice better than most and was determined that he could find a suitable blade for the boy.

Unfortunately, though there were many smiths in city and they all had swords to sale, none of the blades were suitable for a goddamn tiny kid, who was training for agility and speed. No, most of the blades were made for tall and heavy men; sturdy, practical, made to weather the wear and tear. Good blades, but they lacked the _finesse_ that was needed.

And the better blades? Expensive, decorative and still way too long. It was an annoying dilemma. Kenshin was just too delicately built for the common ware.

Besides, a swordsman’s blade was his heart and soul. He wouldn’t want to buy the kid a weapon that wasn’t good enough. After all, he had his Winter Moon. How could he give the boy anything less? Hiko had seen the joy on the Kenshin’s face when trying out the Winter Moon – and the disappointment when he had to give it back.

So, the only option was to order custom work. Thankfully, Hiko found a smith that was willing and seemed enthusiastic about the challenge. A delicate katana – a proper sword, but still short enough to be controllable for a small man to use one-handed when needed. The folded steel would have to be crafted thin, fitting for fast strikes. The handguard would be simple. A true swordsman didn’t need pretty craftsmanship and of course the scabbard should be of iron, practical solution and capable to be used as a secondary weapon in a pinch. Yes, Hiko was a Master and he knew his apprentice. He knew exactly what would be a good blade for the boy.

It took two weeks for the smith to craft the blade alongside the usual orders. Hiko spent the time writing poetry, planning for the winter, listing what supplies would be needed and keeping an ear out for the rumors. It seemed that the incident had raised hell in Settsu and surrounding provinces. It had also made the “Sonno Joi” fanatics stir the chaos here in Hagi, the heart of Choshuu.

Kenshin had had some problems with the sort on their earlier visits, but it hadn’t been so bad. Now, it seemed like he couldn’t even dream of letting the boy leave the mountain before the situation calmed down.

Not that he intended to.

Truthfully, Hiko wasn’t entirely happy with the boy’s actions during the summer fiasco. But then again, the whole incident had happened because he had let the boy out of his sight.

_A man hunting for two hares won't catch either one._

The old saying struck too close to home. Hiko had taken to his duty to the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi and tried to train out his student.

_A student’s mistake can always be traced to the Master._

Hiko sighed before scoffing.

_It figures._

Well, he was a Master and a master’s first duty was always to his apprentice. He could attend to his duty to the principles once again when the situation calmed down, however long that would take.

A couple of weeks later, Hiko returned to the cabin in relatively good spirits. He had bought enough supplies to last them throughout the winter and he was satisfied with the boy’s Katana. To his displeasure, he found his apprentice lying on the ground, lost again in his head.

He couldn’t help letting out a disdainful scoff. He still didn’t care for the habit, but…

“Master!”

…it wasn’t like the kid could be ambushed anymore. Kenshin would feel his presence a mile away, even when he was hiding it.

“Catch.”

The boy’s face lit up like a beacon.

 _That smile will melt the hearts of ladies in the future_ , Hiko noted. Kenshin was growing up to be a fine looking lad. Well, as long as people were able to look past the unnatural red hair, too pale skin and winter pale eyes.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Master,” Kenshin said and bowed.

At least the boy’s manners had improved.

“Try it out. Learn to feel the blade. We will spar tomorrow.”

With that, Hiko turned around and returned to store the supplies. Behind him, he could feel and hear the boy going at it.

He smiled a bit.

No, he wasn’t happy with the boy’s lack of good sense and failure to judge the situation. But he couldn’t blame the boy for it, either.

After all, Kenshin was _his_ apprentice.

 

* * *

 

The katana was beautiful and it felt perfect.

However, now was not the moment to admire the blade, Kenshin reminded himself as he circled around Master, trying to figure out a way to attack him. Master’s defensive stance was perfect, if not for the slight opening near his left side.

It was a trap.

Kenshin knew it all too well. Sometimes Master would bait him by leaving a hint of a weak spot for him to attack, to see if he could force the opportunity into something more. It was frustrating. Because no matter how hard he always tried, never once had he succeeded.

_How sweet would it be to surprise Master and to score a hit? Even just once?_

Kenta nudged at him.

'Not now,’ Kenshin thought back and scowled.

Kenta had been of the opinion that they should try to surprise Master with the internal ki-trick while sparring. Kenshin didn’t agree. Sure, it would be sweet to score a hit. But to use it in sparring? Master would immediately know that they practiced it before and saved the trick for that.

Master would be furious.

But Kenshin hadn’t found the courage yet to confess. To be truthful, he did know any good way to tell Master of his discovery and the subsequent training.

But maybe there simply was no good way to tell Master that he had defied his orders. And that opening in Master’s defense… If he tapped in the ki that Kenta was so readily pushing at him, he could sprint and definitely score a hit.

Master would _never_ see it coming.

If there was no good way to confess, would it matter if he took the chance? It wasn’t like Master could get any angrier at him for it.

'Yes, let’s do it!’ Kenta urged at him.

 

* * *

 

Kenshin was smirking at him, but he hadn’t yet noticed the tiny the opening in his stance. Unusual. Normally the boy was faster at spotting them than this.

 _What is he planning?_ Hiko frowned.

Well, at least that katana had been a right thing to buy. It suited the boy well and had polished the boy’s stance to perfect again. It really was a pity the kid hadn’t yet figured out more of the ki-usage. Hiko had been wishing to get started with Hiten Mitsurugi’s special attacks for quite a while. After all, he hadn’t been able to introduce anything new to the boy for nearly a year and keeping the training sessions fresh was almost impossible.

No matter how he had attempted to explain the ki to the kid, nothing had seemed to make any difference. With the instinctive usage of ki, the skills that required fine touch like sensing, tracking and masking, Kenshin had taken to like fish taught how to swim. And the impossible way he had managed to enhance his hearing all those years ago?

No, there was simply no logical reason why they had this problem.

Hiko truly didn’t understand what the issue was. After all this time, the best he could figure was that Kenshin understood the swordspirit in a completely different and almost _backwards_ way compared to everyone else. He had tried to get the kid to explain his way of thinking a few times. But whenever Kenshin described his way to handle ki, it was like listening to a foreign prose: the words were there but the language, rhythm even the form was completely off. It just didn’t make any sense in a way that the civilized people understood it. So Hiko had decided to let the kid try to figure it out alone.

Before him, the boy had paused, his head lost in the clouds again.

_Now?_

Hiko scowled. Time to break it off! And to show the kid why idiocy like that simply wasn’t done in a spar _._ However, before he could land an attack, the boy focused and seemed to blink out of sight.

_Fuck!_

There, movement on the left, Hiko raised his sword for a common block.

_Clang._

Again, from the right.

He parried on reflex, only to see a small blurred figure come at him again and without pausing to think twice, he kicked it.

The kid rolled away and hit the ground hard.

Hiko took a breath, trying to calm down his racing heart. What the hell had that been?! For a second, it had been like fighting the old Bastard! But even the 12th Master had never been fast enough to _blur out of sight_!

In that brief moment, he honestly hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t had time to think, and only had barely enough time to _react_.

The kid was grinning at him triumphantly, like he had won something.

Hiko frowned. “You figured it out.”

 

* * *

 

Master was scowling at him, but he didn’t seem angry, yet _._

Oh, but the stunned look on Master’s face was worth every bit of pain and tongue lashing to come, and Kenshin couldn’t contain his grin.

The spirit seemed smug, too.

“Yes. While you were away, I realized it,” he confessed. It didn’t matter anymore. He had gotten what he wanted – not a hit, but just that surprised look was worth it.

“Huh. And you decided to practice this without my supervision?”

“I didn’t think about it. I had been trying to figure it out for so long… So when I realized what was needed, I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Couldn’t help yourself? Hmmmph. Clearly you did.”

A bit ashamed, Kenshin looked away, shuffling his feet. Master’s words had a bite to them and it was true that he had disobeyed a direct order. Not to mention of doing it now, right after causing all that trouble last summer.

The victorious feeling turned sour on his tongue. What did his success and discovery matter when he had once again disappointed Master?

A scoff.

“Idiot student.”

Steps.

Master had turned around and was walking away.

Kenshin felt like his feet would drop out from under him at any moment, and he begun shaking. _Oh no, no, no._

But then, Master stopped and said, “Go ahead and practice, then. Clearly, you don’t need my help.”

 _This is… this is it?_ Kenshin swallowed. _Master isn’t going to teach me anymore?_

“But come back inside for dinner. We can discuss it better then. And plan what we will be doing with your training in the future.”

Kenshin exhaled.

_Thank god._

A relieved smile formed on his lips.

_Master forgave me._

“Yes, Master!”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belligerent teenager Kenshin is a doll. <3 But I do feel for Hiko...   
> By the way, the whole burning village arc was born when I got into thinking of what would be a realistic and believable cause for an eleven year old boy to wet the bed.
> 
> Edited first by Chie in 2014, then again 20.03.2016 by BelovedStranger.


	14. Killing two birds with one wish

#  Chapter 13. Killing two birds with one wish

 

 

That winter, Master introduced him to the most basic of Hiten Mitsurugi style special attacks. Kenshin had instantly fallen in love with _Ryutsuitsen_ – a strike that began with a high jump and then would use the fall to give more power to the clean strike aimed at the center of the forehead. It was the high jumps that exited Kenshin most, because when Master had showed him how to fall right, it was just purely _fun_ to use ki to give jumps the extra height.

Master was pleased with his progress and kept pushing him more and more. The constant practice helped Kenshin to become more familiar with the internal ki trick and Kenta, too, learned to pass through the wall better. They still needed time to concentrate for it to work, but Master wasn’t too willing to give them that while sparring.

By the following summer, they had almost learned all the basic strikes that required ki. The nightmares had slowly ceased to bother Kenshin and hadn’t been an issue anymore. But what was becoming a real problem was staying in the same old and boring mountain. Master still wasn’t willing to let him go out. Even during the spring when he had gone to deal with Kawase-san and to restock supplies, Master had left them behind.

And what was worse, despite the money he had gotten from his poetry, Master said that they wouldn’t go travelling this year either.

To say that Kenshin was displeased would be the understatement of the year. He liked travelling and seeing new places, yes, but more than that he wanted to get _away_ from this damn mountain.

But the rumors were still going strong, especially in Choshuu. And while it wasn’t probable that anything would come out of it, Master said that it was better _not_ to risk it.

It was in the fall of Kenshin’s 12th year that the next issue arose in training.

Lately, Master had been pushing him to use ki more. And Kenshin _had_ been getting better with the internal enhancement as his body was becoming more used to having Kenta on his side of the wall and could handle it longer and in higher amounts.

But to use the trick _externally?_

That was hard.

Kenta and Kenshin had realized early on that they could only push the ki to the blade while Kenta was on his side of the wall, and that would be enough to give the blade an extra edge. But even knowing how it worked wasn’t enough for the _damned_ _Doryusen_.

The attack required infusing ki onto the blade, and then striking the ground with such force that the debris would reach the opponent; it was an effective long-range attack.

In theory at least.

But for Kenshin, it was just impossible for them to concentrate the ki and get enough force behind it to truly work. They managed to get some tiny rocks flying, or sand and dust.

It was just _pathetic_.

And Master kept taunting him about it.

Kenshin was truly growing tired of the scathing words and ridicule that Master was prone to unleash on him.

Or maybe it was just living in tight quarters with _the most difficult man on earth_.

Kenshin didn’t know nor care. His constant exasperation and annoyance wasn’t letting go but kept building up, and the only thing that helped was the constant sparring with Master, which allowed him to let out some steam.

However, he still hadn’t been able to score a hit on the man. Even with the internal ki usage and all those new special strikes he had been learning.

It was beginning to be a sore point.

That summer, Master didn’t teach him anything new. It was just sparring, physical training and pushing them to use the ki longer, faster and better. _Doryusen_ with sand was almost perfect for creating distractions and annoyance. Not that it would seriously manage to hurt anyone, as Kenshin couldn’t manage to get enough power behind the strike.

It was during the harvest season of the second year of Bunkyu era that Master went to cash in the income from his poetry in Kawase-san. For some reason, the simple trip took him nearly four weeks and Kenshin couldn’t have been happier about this little change to his mountain prison routine. Even true criminals didn’t have to stay holed up in the middle of nowhere this long and stand the torture Master inflicted on them!

Being blissfully left alone, not having to endure Master’s temper tantrums or needing to do humiliating and endless chores for a whole month was bliss. Only thing what would have made it even _better_ was if Kenshin would have been able to see other people. Maybe even talk to them.

Truthfully, Kenshin just wanted to get _away –_ back to travelling, seeing people, helping them like a proper student of Hiten Mitsurugi should. Even for a little while, please! To not be forced to endure this isolation of nothingness, hours filled with nothing but necessities and training.

Not that Kenshin didn’t like training, he did! But Master hadn’t taught him anything new in ages. They had just honed the special attacks, the physical fitness, had long discussion about tactics and tried to increase his prowess with ki.

Even Kenta was sick and tired of it.

Even Master himself seemed to be tired of it.

_Hopefully._

In the tenth month of the same year, Kenshin’s wishes came true.

Master had taken him to Hagi to restock supplies for the coming winter, given him a hat and some money and told him to entertain himself. It was a compromise they had settled on after a _lot_ of persuasion, because Kenshin had claimed he would go crazy and start to do crazy things in the hut if he wasn’t able to see other people even just once this year.

Master had just scoffed and raised his brow and said to him, “And you aren’t already? I couldn’t tell the difference, Idiot student.”

But Kenshin didn’t mind!

He was finally seeing people! Life! Anything but the mountain!

Of course, Master had said that the reason why he was allowed to go with him had nothing to do with the persuasion, that he just wanted his help for carrying supplies. Yet, for Kenshin it was clear that something had cowed in him.

True, part of the reason might have been that during his long seclusion, there had been larger scandals like Nawagumi incident where Satsuma samurai had assassinated a British merchant, which took the brunt of public attention. Besides, it was unlikely that many would remember the murders in Settsu, but to be on the safe side, Master warned him to cover his hair just in case.

Kenshin had agreed with the hat thing. It wasn’t like he particularly enjoyed being noticed anyways. And if someone could still remember the rumors, why risk it?

So, here he was, wandering through the streets with an ugly hat and trying to drink his fill of the people and listening in on conversations. He wanted to savor this moment of freedom. Master was meeting again with Kawase-san and would be going to buy supplies afterwards. Kenshin wasn’t needed until the afternoon and according to the Master, he could find Kenshin anywhere. Apparently it wouldn’t be hard, just following the "teenager’s moaning, whining and ruckus” would be enough.

Kenshin had scoffed in return. “And I don’t need to follow your ki to see the rain-cloud looming over your head.”

Truthfully, they both wanted to enjoy this momentary freedom from each other.

However, listening in on the talk around him, it was clear that something was really wrong with the government. Kenshin didn’t know much about politics, of the Shogunate and Bakufu. Not really, not more than the average man at best. But even to his ears, they didn’t sound very good at _governing_ the people.

“These foreigners are pushing treaties and the Shogun is unable to stop them.”

“Hah. Treaties. Just call what it is. It’s blackmail, but instead of an honest blade to the throat, it’s their guns and warships threatening us.”

Kenshin knew – oh god, how well he knew it – not many people liked foreigners. He had been in trouble for looking like them all his life. But he wasn’t a foreigner and listening in on the talk in the streets, foreigners sounded like a really bad sort. He could easily understand why honest people wanted to drive them out of the country, especially because the treaties and all that seemed to be the reason for increased taxation of the common people.

Maybe Master should be killing foreigners instead of Ronin? Surely that would be a better use of Hiten Mitsurugi style for the betterment of the common people?

But then again, it seemed that killing the foreigners was a problem already. Quite a few incidents had happened and it had ended with bodies on either side, with the government having to _pay_ to the foreigners for it. So, killing the foreigners was just increasing the problem, not solving it.

“Che. Shogun, bakufu and their useless laws. Can’t protect the people, can’ stop the foreigners.”

Somehow, people here in Hagi seemed to agree that the government just wasn’t good enough at their work. That their laws weren’t fair, their people didn’t listen and they didn’t protect the people. Instead of doing what they should, they just let the foreigners push them around. The heart of the problem, according to the common census, was that the shogunate didn’t govern according the divine will of the Emperor.

Kenshin knew that the Emperor was appointed by the gods to rule the country. Everybody knew that. But for some reason that didn’t make any sense to him; it wasn’t the Emperor who gave the orders or made the laws – it was the _Shogun_.

And Shogun’s laws didn’t protect everyone equally.

The laws didn’t work right.

Having witnessed a good example of Shogun’s laws being unfair to Miya a year ago, well maybe these people had a point.

It seemed that the something that would fix all this unfairness and make all these people happy would be to overthrow the Shogunate and reinstate the Emperor to power. It made sense to Kenshin. As the Emperor was the divine ruler of the country, he should fix the law so that it would be fair and just to everyone and not have this Shogun do it for him.

And every now and then, people would whisper of the Ishin Shishi – “men with higher purpose”. They were people dedicated to this goal that the people wanted: to overthrow the Shogunate, to reinstate the Emperor and to drive away the foreigners. Maybe this was what Master and he should be doing with their strength? Wasn’t Hiten Mitsurugi about protecting the people and fighting for the happiness of common people? Just like these Ishin Shishi?

The way Master had been doing his duty, killing the bandits and hunting down Ronin and outlaws, while it protected the people, it didn’t seem to be working very well.

And according to the idle talk in the streets, it seemed that things had been going more wrong for _years_. All that time Master had said he was protecting the people, in actuality, things had been getting worse. So maybe, the right way to use Hiten Mitsurugi was _to fight with others_ to fix the country? Hadn’t the trick for internal ki usage been to work _together_ with the spirit?

But Master didn’t like working with people. He wanted to do things in his own way, Kenshin knew it all too well. But, maybe he could convince Master? That way all the common people would be happy, not just the few that Master and he had encountered in their travels.

Yes, it made sense.

 

* * *

 

On the way back home, Hiko noticed Kenshin deep in thought. He had that “head in the clouds” faraway look in his pale eyes. Hiko scowled and shook his head. Despite his best tries, he couldn’t seem to figure out a way to remove the pesky habit from the boy.

Thankfully, Kawase-san had been glad to pay for his poetry and had told him that the name Kii no Hiroto was still gaining popularity even in the capital. Apparently, there had been an interest among the court nobles and it had picked up from there.

It was almost ironic.

Hiko couldn’t help but feel pleased, though. Who knew that he could gain his living from art?

And more importantly, his art and the income it provided ensured that he didn’t have to waste time doing odd jobs anymore, allowing him to concentrate on training Kenshin. Also, there was an additional benefit: he didn’t need to deal with people, their demands and constant yapping, and he could stay in one place, enjoy the seclusion and peace.

Maybe the wanderer in his heart that had been so prominent in his younger days was finally calming down?

He would be turning thirty this winter. It was an odd thing to realize. He wouldn’t be old, but it seemed that he would reach some milestone of adulthood; one where he was not exactly young anymore.

Hmmph! Well, it was not like it mattered much.

Living with the boy in the mountain had had its own challenges, though. Kenshin had entered his awkward teens and last winter his voice had finally cracked. Hiko had been waiting for it. Truthfully, he might have poked a tad bit too much fun at the boy’s plight. But it wasn’t like he could help himself. The kid’s voice had been hilarious, high like a little girls’.

Of course he tactfully told the boy this. Kenshin hadn’t deigned to speak to him for weeks afterwards. A double blessing indeed!

Truly, the silence had been just perfect after being forced to listen to all that moaning, whining and surly grumbling of not being able to travel last summer. It was like Hiko had earned some good karma for having been calm, collected and otherwise such a good mentor for the kid.

However, the reason why he hadn’t wanted to take Kenshin travelling with him had nothing to do with rumors. Well, not directly. No matter how angry the Kuto clan was over their loss, Hiko didn’t believe they would chase the offender for a year, or across seven provinces. And it wasn’t like they had much to go with. No, it was just that “Sonno joi” movement had gotten a lot popularity and the acts against the foreigners had turned violent.

The country was slowly reaching a boiling point and travelling with a mixed blood kid would be pure madness now that people wanted to have someone to blame.

So, they had stayed home and trained. The boy had almost all the theories of special strikes in Hiten Mitsurugi; he could even use most of them. There were still some lingering difficulties, especially with that _Doruysen_.

But it all would settle in time, Hiko had resolved. He just needed to keep pushing the boy.

Somehow, it seemed Kenshin had a wall of some sort blocking him from reaching his true potential with the ki. It was like the kid could bypass it when needed – but it demanded a lot of concentration, preparation and Kenshin couldn’t keep it up for long.

Very odd, and erratic.

It would help if Hiko could figure out how to push the kid just right. He had realized after some thinking and rechecking his memory that back in Settsu the farmer had told him that the boy had moved _too fast to see_.

It meant that Kenshin had first used the ability under duress, and the boy had even admitted that he had been angry. This sounded very familiar for Hiko and he could relate this to his own experiences. After all, the anger had been the trigger for his use of ki as a young man. So he would just have to get the kid angry and push him to break the wall holding him back.

Thankfully, Hiko had been growing particularly good at pushing the kid’s buttons. In fact, it was almost amusing, trying to piss off his gentle-hearted and ‘too kind for his own good’ apprentice. Kenshin had a pure heart, devoid of malice and evils that plagued the common folk. And though the kid could be _sensitive_ about killing, blood or screaming – Kenshin wasn't _weak_.

No, his apprentice had a stubborn spirit that just endured. He endured and endured with such will that Hiko wasn’t sure he entirely understood.

Yes, the kid would explode into anger, have fits of temper, answer to taunts, mouth off, but underneath all those surface emotions and flickers of temper, the kid was a thinker. Kenshin thought and considered, and when the time was right, he would go at it.

Just like in the early days the poetry and the trouble in internal ki usage, it was just that sort of thinking that was going on with his apprentice right now. Had been going since that fateful summer and the Samurai incident, Hiko was willing to admit. He had lectured about the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi, how to use the power of the style properly in protection of the weak. The kid had just nodded with that thoughtful look, but hadn’t said anything about it.

Oh well, when it would be time, the boy would talk. He always did.

At Hagi, Hiko had bought some sake, for the first time in ages. Kenshin was growing and life was good. Maybe it was time to celebrate a bit?

The anniversary of the Old Bastard’s death would be perfect for it. He could toast to the Bastard, pay his respects to the memory and then be glad that he had picked up his apprentice. He couldn’t have found a better one. Kenshin had grown with such a speed that there wasn’t much he could even teach to the kid anymore, just the succession techniques and some miscellaneous situational techniques like those battoujutsu tricks.

Personally, Hiko didn’t care for those much. The fast draw was a pure dueling strike and it had no practical use in a true bout. Hiten Mitsurugi was created to pit one against many, that was its purpose, the reason for its existence and he was only too willing to use it just so for protection of the weak.

Well, had been. It wasn’t like he could go to fulfill his duty to the principles with the boy in tow.

Hiko wasn’t about to let the kid out of his sight and Kenshin just wasn’t ready to help out yet. The kid was too young, the enduring nightmares over killing the Samurai had proved it. No, it was better to let the kid grow up and come to an age before pushing that hard life on him.

During the lonely thoughtful nights, Hiko could admit not being sure of what his duty was anymore to the sword of Mitsurugi. Well, other than training his apprentice.

So he would watch the boy and train him.

Speaking of training, Kenshin had been bored to tears lately.

Hmmm, maybe those battoujutsu techniques would help to ease the boredom and repetition that accompanied the honing of skills?

 

* * *

 

It was a clear night sky of late autumn, anniversary of his Master’s death, and Hiko was contently sipping his sake and enjoying the taste.

The boy was keeping him company.

They had paid respects to the dead. He for his old Master, the man who had taught him everything he knew that mattered. The man, who adopted him and showed him the purity and purpose of Hiten Mitsurugi. For that, Hiko would be ever grateful. Who knew what he would have ended up like if the Old Bastard hadn’t taken him as a hostage?

Not that he had known it at the time.

He scoffed, bitter memories flooding to his mind.

He had been an arrogant kid born to privilege, grown in the midst of politics to be a plaything in the hands of powerful scheming old men. He was born into a world where wealth and power were only used to gain more of the same. Then his Master had showed him that there were other things in life – had made it clear that the only way the power should be used would be to protect the weak.

Yes, for that Hiko would always be grateful. But at the same time those feelings didn’t lessen his hate for the Old Bastard’s choices and betrayals.

The Bastard had allowed himself to be _used_ in the politics and games. He had claimed that it was for the better use of Hiten Mitsurugi’s power, that joining in the politics would help the people best. The Bastard had claimed that the era of swordsmen protecting the people with only their blades was coming to an end, that the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi had to be _renewed to suit the times_.

That the original idea of a lonely swordsman protecting the weak just wasn’t working anymore.

Back then, Hiko had believed the Old man. Maybe that’s why it had hurt so much when the Bastard’s betrayal became clear to him. For all the philosophy and kindness, Hiko had been nothing but a plaything for the Bastard and his ambitions to affect Hiko's _father_. And in truth, _none_ of the wisdom and principles had ever been intended for him.

Heartbroken and betrayed, Hiko had gone back to the Bastard and killed him with the Amakakeru Ryo no Hirameki the man had taught him.

The final technique.

Hiko had been a bitter young man for years after that. Wandering, trying to find a way to use the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi as they should have been used, as they had been used when the style had been created – a swordsman cleaning the world of evil, to protect the innocents and less capable.

And then, in that cold autumn night, he had found Kenshin.

With the boy, Hiko had realized that he had been given a chance to renew the Hiten Mitsurugi: to bring it back to its pure roots, but in a way that suited the era.

But now, Hiko was slowly coming to realize that maybe the Old Bastard had had a point in his madness. It was difficult to travel as a masterless samurai. There wasn’t much he could do as a single swordsman but to clear out bandits, outlaws and degenerate ronin – and it wasn’t doing much good to ease the suffering of the common people. Maybe the Old Bastard had been right that the era of lonely swordsmen was ending?

The foreigners were coming in with their technology, guns and cannons. The country was slowly opening up and moving ahead. It didn’t matter what the fanatics caroled of driving the barbarians away. It was clear to anyone with a pair of working eyes and ears that the foreigners wouldn’t leave Japan alone.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to admit for once that some of his old Master’s words had had wisdom.

And right now, Hiko was content.

He had a good apprentice; the boy was dedicated and didn’t care for violence. Maybe together they could find a way to use the sword of Mitsurugi in a way that would suit the new world that was coming?

He glanced down at his sake. Last time he had drank had been with Osumi’s father. Maybe he should have accepted the offer back then? But then again, he had been too arrogant, hadn’t wanted give up with his principles.

He had been _young_.

_It was only three years ago. How could everything change in just three short years?_

But the sake tasted good.

Kenshin had spat it out when he had given the kid a taste.

It had been hilarious. Well, maybe the kid just didn’t understand yet. Kenshin was still so very young. Didn’t know much of refinement, of delicate tastes.

“Cherry blossoms in the spring, and starry skies in the summer. Autumn brings the full moon. The winter brings the snow,” Hiko tried out loud the words.

_Yes, that’s it._

“These things make Sake taste good.”

And it had taken him time to understand it, just like the boy couldn’t see it yet. When he had first turned to sake, it had tasted awful and bitter.

“If you don’t like sake, there is something wrong with you.”

It had tasted almost like blood. Because back then, he had been wrong, Hiko realized. He had been bitter and angry; of course the taste of sake had reflected it. He had drank to _forget_. It wasn’t like he could do so otherwise. His exceptional memory that allowed him to remember everything he saw, that he had always prided, had been a plague for him then. But now?

Sake tasted good. He had grown older, calmed down and found his peace. He had found the good things in life.

“Someday you will understand how to taste it.”

Yes, Kenshin would understand in time, without the bitter experiences that had plagued Hiko’s early years.

 _Yes,_ my _apprentice will have better._ Hiko nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the boy and toasted, “Then we will enjoy it together.”

Because truly, the first steps of his healing had been because of the boy. It was because of Kenshin that he had achieved this moment.

The stars were bright. It truly was a beautiful night.

_I am at peace._

 

* * *

 

It was after the first snowfall that Hiko finally got to hear what the boy had been thinking about since the visit in Hagi and to say that he was unhappy about it would be a severe understatement.

“Master, I have been thinking…”

“Yes?”

“The way of Hiten Mitsurugi states that it should be used for the protection of the weak.”

Hiko had lifted his brow skeptically, but had waited patiently for the boy to get on with it.

“But the way we have been doing it, killing bandits and outlaws, hasn’t been helping the people all that much."

For a moment, Hiko had been happy hearing this, because it meant that the boy had come to the same realization as he had himself. Maybe Kenshin would have a new idea? After all, Kenshin’s thoughts followed quite different paths, but still retained intelligence and a practical way of thinking.

So Hiko had listened.

"I heard in Hagi that the disturbances are caused by the Shogunate not being good enough in its job, that they cannot keep the foreigners in check, cannot drive them out like they should, and that the laws are unfair, so there are these people—”

And then the kid began spouting that “Sonno joi” radicals’ bullshit. And the best thing that came out of the kid’s mouth?

“Maybe we should join with them in their fight? Together, we could help the people better.”

Wasn’t that the _exact same garbage_ that his Old Bastard of a Master had ranted out to him decade earlier? That had been already proven wrong in the very worst way! So Hiko had done what any sensible Master would have done.

“Stop it, idiot student.”

He had told the boy that he lacked sense and sensibly pointed out the errors in his judgment.

“Listen to the garbage that comes out of your mouth! Joining in with the radicals would increase the disturbance, not lessen it. The nonsense of that "Sonno joi” movement? It’s ridiculous extremist shit, that’s what it is! The foreigners are here to stay and the government will deal with it as they can. The new era is coming and politics will grow to answer the challenge. It they don’t, they are overthrown. It has nothing to do with the common people or us.”

And then the kid had the gall to talk back to him. Absolutely ridiculous.

"But Master, if we join in the movement and fight together, we can help the people better!”

So he had spelled out the facts to the kid as clearly as he could.

“The Hiten Mitsurugi is used to aid the people without the influence of others. Only the Master of the style can judge how to best use his skill to aid the people. The style is too strong to be given into the hands others.”

“But, but… you just don’t want to admit that you are wrong! You are always making the decisions on your own, you don’t listen to others! If we—”

At that point Hiko had had enough. “Idiot Student, I won’t hear any more of this nonsense.” And he had walked out of the house.

He wanted to cool his head. Of all the idiotic notions the kid could have gotten in his head, this was the _worst_. Had nothing he had taught the boy during these six years stuck? It was like being thrown back in time, straight to hearing his Master’s delusions and lies again.

Never again.

Hiko had sworn to himself that he would find a way to use Hiten Mitsurugi as it should be used. And the last thing on earth that it should be used for was to join in with radical extremist politics. Hah! For the good of the people, indeed!

He spat on the ground, then scoffed. “Idiot student.”

 

* * *

 

Kenshin scowled. To say he was disappointed in Master would be a severe understatement. He had always thought of Hiko as an example of who he should try to be like. But try as he might, and he _had_ tried, Master just wouldn’t listen.

All winter!

He had been trying to convince Master throughout the season that there was a way they could help the people better, the common people, who had been suffering for years!

It was a duty of the practitioners of Hiten Mitsurugi to help the people. Master had taught him this, had even agreed that the way they had been going at it wasn’t very efficient!

And earlier with Miya, and the Samurai, Master had said that he hadn’t been wrong to kill the Samurai. That the samurai had been evil men! And Master had told him that though the Samurai had been evil men, they had been in their legal rights! That the law allowed bad things to happen! That the law didn’t protect the people! That the law was _wrong!_

So when Kenshin had tried to tell Master that maybe they should try to do more, to _change the law that was so wrong_ , Master stopped listening! Instead, he would yell at him that he was an “Idiot Student” and “naïve child!”

_Why can’t Master just listen to me?_

The spirit had been trying to comfort him. Kenta, too, had agreed that Master was being ridiculously unfair.

And training?

_What training?_

Master hadn’t taught them anything new since autumn, and even then it had been only those miscellaneous battoujutsu techniques that even Master admitted to being pretty useless in a real fight. Only _Souryuseen_ – the double quick draw technique seemed worth anything, but even that was a _dueling_ technique. It wouldn’t be worth much in a fight against several opponents.

And the rest?

Throwing his sword out of its scabbard as a ranged strike? True, it worked better for Kenshin than his version of the _Douryusen_ – throwing tiny rocks and dust at the opponent. But it was only because Kenshin still hadn’t managed to work it out right! And what was the point in throwing your sword at the opponent?

It would leave you unarmed!

It was ridiculous!

And all the time Master kept pushing him in their dueling to use ki faster, for longer, but the man didn’t listen to him there either when Kenshin explained time and time again that his ki didn’t work like that. That he couldn’t make it any faster because it needed concentration and just how could he get it to require less? He had no idea! Even Kenta didn’t have any idea!

But Master didn’t listen him, just taunted him all the time!

It was like he hadn’t heard his name out of the man’s mouth in ages. Instead, he had been demoted to being “Idiot student!” all the time. It was _degrading_. Kenta was truly pissed off at Master because of it. Even Kenshin didn’t feel alright with it anymore. It just didn’t seem to mean the same thing it used to anymore.

And the newest one?

“Naïve child?”

He was not naïve, _thank you very much_.

Kenshin knew that joining in with the Ishin Shishi and their attacks against the Shogunate would mean that he would have to kill. He had always known that he was learning how to kill. Master had always told him that swordsmanship was a tool for murder. And he had killed before. He knew he could do it!

But Master called him naïve. That he didn’t know what he was proposing – like he was a child!

Kenshin was not a child. He was almost a man. At thirteen years of age, he was just two years shy of genpuku – the rite of adulthood! He had grown. His voice had cracked! Even Master said that it meant that he was a man now. Well, it had been said with a joking tone, but Master had said it!

If Master said something, he meant it!

And Kenshin had always wanted to help the people. It was what he had been learning to do all these six years of hard training. Master had never let him.

He wanted to be a hero! He wanted to help people!

But Master wouldn’t let him.

How could he grow if he couldn’t fight?

_And what use is it to learn swordsmanship if I’m not allowed to use it?_

The people were suffering, the times were difficult. There was fighting to be done and people needed help. Now, if ever, was the time to use the sword of Mitsurugi!

Kenshin had _never_ tried to convince the older man this seriously or with such intensity. And before, Master had always caved in or at least _listened_. But now, it felt like Master didn’t even _let_ himself hear Kenshin’s words anymore.

_But what if Master won’t hear me? What if he can’t be convinced?_

_What then?_

Kenshin swallowed.

It felt like it was too big a thought to even consider.

_What will I do if Master won’t help me?_

He wasn’t wrong. People were suffering. He had the training and duty of Hiten Mitsurugi. Even Master agreed that there wasn’t much that he could teach him anymore.

Kenshin resolved to try once more.

_But if… if Master doesn’t listen to me… What will I do?_

 

* * *

 

“As you know, I have murdered hundreds of evil men, but they were _all_ human beings. They were only trying to live out their lives in the only way they knew how. If you leave this mountain, you will live a life of murder, under the will of men who write their own justice. If you throw your lot with them, Hiten Mitsurugi will make you a _mass murderer_!”

_Leave._

The word seemed to toll in Kenshin’s skull. _Leave…_

_Leave this mountain, to help the people._

_Alone?_

_Without Master?_

Kenshin swallowed, but steeled his resolve. _I am right. I must be right. And if Master won’t listen to me…_

“You may be right, but I want to save those that are suffering with my own hands. Many people, countless lives… as many as I can! I want to be their protector! I must leave in order to do so,” he managed to spit out.

Inside, Kenshin was terrified. _I am going to do this. I really am going to do this._

_Master… My teacher for the last six years, who found me, took me in and gave me everything. He isn’t going to come with me?_

_I will be going alone?_

_Alone?_

In front of him, Master felt cold. Kenshin couldn’t read the man’s expressions at all and then he turned his back.

His back!

…and started to walk away.

_What? This is happening?_

“Master!” Kenshin yelled, disbelieving.

“I am wasting my breath with an idiot like you. Go. Go wherever you want to go.” And just for a second, Hiko-san felt warmer. Just a little _,_ like he had accepted his decision.

Master wouldn’t stop him. No, instead, he had given him permission to head out to help people. The feeling of relief was nearly overwhelming for a moment, and Kenshin bowed in gratitude, whispering, “Thank you very much.”

With shaky legs, Kenshin headed out to the cabin. He needed to prepare for his journey. Master – no, Hiko-san – wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Well, it wasn’t all that surprising. The older man had a habit of spending time alone, especially after their more furious arguments.

However, Kenshin couldn’t stop to wait for him to cool down. Not this time. After all, the daylight wouldn’t last forever and if he waited for tomorrow, he wasn’t sure he could find the courage to leave. His hands still shook a bit and Kenta nudged him. 'Master gave us permission. We can go.’

'I know.’

_The petting comfort feeling._

It made him feel a bit better. He wouldn’t be alone. No matter what, he would never be alone. Kenta was always with him. Kenshin shook his head. Now was not the time for doubts. He needed to leave.

The cabin was as it always had been; tiny and tidy, with their possessions gathered next to the wall.

He would need food, blanket, some clothes, his hated hat, and money. Thankfully, he still had the little bit of money Master – no, Hiko-san – had given him the last time in Hagi. Kenshin didn’t know how long it would last, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to live with little. So, he would be okay.

He had spent most of his youth on the road with Master and if anything, he _knew_ how to stretch out meager funds.

_There, all packed up. But what else do I need?_

_Oh… Kasumi’s top._ Kenshin swallowed and knelt to touch the toy. Back then, it had been so important to him. It was a kid’s toy. He wasn’t a child anymore, but at the same time, it was the only thing he had left of that time. Without further word, he took it with him. It wasn’t like it weighed much or was awkward to carry.

And then there was his old wakizashi.

Kenshin had his new sword with him, always. He loved the Katana the Master had given him. But the old and worn Wakizashi was also his. It was his first sword, and it was his hand that had made those frayed prints on the hilt. But only samurai were allowed to carry two blades.

_I can’t take it with me._

It didn’t matter. It was just an old sword.

Silently, the numbness aching in his chest, Kenshin surveyed the cabin. It had been his home for so long. For five winters he had lived there, but…

_I need to do this._

He walked out of the door without looking back.

 

* * *

 

Hiko felt the kid’s presence fade away and shook his head. _Is this what I have become? I can’t even see the boy off?_

Scowling, he made his way back to the house. Truthfully speaking, though he could understand Kenshin’s reasoning somewhat, naïve and ignorant as it was, if he would see the kid one more time, he wouldn't _let_ the boy leave. Hiko knew the road Kenshin was walking and it would only end up in tragedy and misery.

However, he also knew that look the boy had had in his eyes, that desperate need to use his talents, to help the people, to follow the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi to their fullest.

He, too, had been like that – y _oung._

 _If I stepped in and ordered the kid not to leave, not to do this stupidity…_ Kenshin would never forgive him. He would obey, yes. Hiko was his master. The boy had grown to obey his word. But, Kenshin wouldn't _see_ _why_.

Not without experiencing it himself.

It would destroy the boy’s heart, but so would this path that the idiot had chosen.

There was no good ending to this.

And how could he give the boy any less than what he had wanted? The freedom to decide for himself? To seek out his own path? To find a way to use Hiten Mitsurugi for the best?

Hiko wasn’t worried for the kid’s death, not really. He had taught the boy the best he could and Kenshin was _brilliant_ with a blade. The ugly truth was that the boy would become a killer.

No, over everything else, he worried for the boy’s soul.

Kenshin had a pure and gentle heart, and this foolish path he had chosen would forever tarnish it.

But maybe, the boy could survive the conflict with his heart intact? Before anything else, Kenshin was a survivor. He had a stubborn will that endured, endured and endured.

 _Maybe…_ Hiko spat on the ground. _I am reduced to this? Hoping against all reality? Hoping that I didn’t just let the kid I love walk into a lifetime of misery?_

Moodily, he stepped inside the cottage. It seemed that the boy had taken most of his possessions with him. Good. Also some of the food and the hat were missing. The boy would need it.

_But wait…_

_Kenshin left the wakizashi?_

_Why?_

The reality dawned like a thunder strike from a clear sky: Kenshin wasn’t a samurai and the boy knew it. Carrying the paired blades was illegal for him. Hiko couldn’t help the bitter smile that rose to his lips. An amusing thing to realize, for he hadn’t cared about birth or status in a long time, but Kenshin had been the lowest of low, and had always been aware of the fact.

Of course Kenshin would leave the blade.

For some reason, Hiko took the sword and slipped it into his belt, next to the Winter Moon. Then he knelt and picked up his bottle of sake.

He didn’t feel like staying here either.

He took a swallow.

It tasted like ash.

Not surprised in the least, Hiko toasted to the empty air and uttered, “You win, Old Bastard.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the final chapter of the first book, and concludes Hiko's pov in the tale. However, "This One" is far from over and Kenshin's story will continue in the next book, where he will face military life, politics, terrorism and love. Oh yes, Tomoe will be playing a major role and she is actually the reason why the rating will go up to mature. Girls and teenage boys... *grin*
> 
> Edited first by Chie in 2014, then again 05.04.2016 by BelovedStranger.


End file.
